Maybe We Could
by portable tragedy
Summary: "With you, chere, I ain't playin'." -Remy arrives at the mansion from a long-term undercover assignment to find an intriguing, and isolated, new student with a power that leaves him as breathless as her green eyes do. ROMY. (Because, who else, really?)
1. Glossary

If this is your first visit, I stuck this in the number one spot so I wouldn't have to keep moving it. But you should head right on into the first real chapter. Hope you enjoy it!

**Otherwise:**

As there's a bit of Cajun French tossed around every time Remy speaks, I thought a glossary might be handy. I'll update it as I use different phrases.

Some have mentioned it would be easier at the end of each section. I totally understand, but that makes extra work for me which means less writing too. So, what I would suggest is maybe pulling up the glossary in one tab on your browser and the story in another, then you can flip back and forth. (And maybe use it for other Romy stories!) I'm sorry if it makes it tougher! This is kind of my preferences as a reader, plus as a writer it helps to keep some of the extraneous work stuff to a minimum.

(Also, I am missing accent marks. I will go back and fix this soon.)

**Glossary**

**Alohrs Pas**—Of course not

**Arrete, toi**—Stop, you

**Assez**-Enough

**Bon**-Good

**C'est tout**—That's all

**Cher**—masculine for dear

**Chere**—femine for dear

**désolé-**Sorry (masculine)**  
**

**jolie fille**—pretty girl; doll

**Le Bon Dieu!**—The Good God

**Mais**—well or of course, for emphasis

**non**—no

**ouis**—yes

**petite**—Little (little girl)

**petite bouche**—little mouth

**Pop chock**—small brown bird

**'tite chatte**—little cat

**Viens ici**—Come here


	2. Chapter 1: The Workout

Hey, this is my first fanfiction writing. Kinda learning the site and how it works with this. Tips, advice, input, feedback-it's all welcome!

As for the story-if you are a purist for the comics or the films, this is not for you. I'm pulling from everywhere and mashing it up as I see fit. It's very ROMY and there will be romance, 'cause that's how I roll. If you do read on, I hope you enjoy it!

**Standard Disclaimer:** As seen on TV-Except, not, actually. I own nothing. X-Men belong to Marvel (and my heart, but mostly for legal purposes to Marvel).

* * *

**Chapter 1:** The Workout

"Ain't no one goin' in?" The whiskey drawl broke up the small pack of students gathered at the weight room. Eyes darted to the only recently returned X-Man, Gambit.

One of the boys—Bobo or Bopsy, Remy didn't know one crew-cut sweater wearing GAP ad from the next—spoke after a lengthy pause. "No. Rogue's working out."

Gambit lifted a brow. "One itty bitty f_emme_ need a whole gym? What, her sweat poison?" He noted those that snickered, though his red on black eyes seemed to stay focused on their spokes-boy.

"Uh, no, not—"

"Well, den, I don't see a problem." With that, and a lazy wink to the girls in the group, he pushed into the gym. There was no worry the girl inside had heard the conversation as, rather than wear headphones, she had commandeered the radio and The Cure was moodily crooning a song as she did leg presses in a studied rhythm. She did hear the door, or sense the shift in the air, because bright green eyes focused on Gambit. What should have been a look as clear as fine cut emeralds was maybe the most complicated one he'd ever been on the receiving end of, until something slammed down behind the eyes so that they were as dull as swamp bracken.

"Hope you don't mind sharing, _chere_. Just got in and need a good workout, yeah?'

Rogue said nothing in return. She purposefully turned her gaze forward and tried to resume counting, though she kept losing track. How could she keep track when he was loping toward her with more of their collective skin exposed than she had been comfortable with since her mutation had manifested? And his collective skin was burnished and stretched over long, lean muscle. The kind that one of Kitty's magazines would say only had 3% body fat. She figured he'd been warned about her own skin and the kinds of horror stories magazines would print about it so she concentrated on forgetting he was there.

But, Remy LeBeau, Prince of Thieves, didn't seem to take the hint. "Hope you don't mind, Rogue, but its nice not having a crowd, yeah? But maybe next time I can introduce you to some zydeco." He chatted as if she had at any point responded to his words or his presence, his Cajun drawl just as amiable as when he'd walked in the door. Only now it was closer as he was sitting himself down on the machine next to hers. "Where are my manners? See a pretty _fille_ and I get all messed up. Some call me Gambit and it sure is a pleasure to meet you, _petite_."

Rogue turned to stare at the hand he extended. It was oddly gloved, with certain fingers completely free. Her own hands were unfettered. No one came in here when she worked out, too afraid of bumping up against her when they were wearing so little. Or she was. Except, at first, she'd worn her gloves and sweats and a long-sleeved tee. It was only when she realized no one would come into the gym with her that she decided to take advantage and opted for shorts and a tank and, finally, no gloves. "I can't."

"Someone told you not to talk to strangers?" Remy grinned, his tone playful as he withdrew his hand.

"No. I mean I can't. Didn't anyone warn you?"

Remy shrugged. "Just that your sweat wasn't poison."

"So they forgot to mention that my skin is?" The southern was sharp when she asked; whatever muddy rivers he might've been imagining playing black jack on from the first words, he suddenly remembered southern women were made of steel.

Remy's gaze drifted from the girl's eyes to her pale skin, it was naturally gold-dusted but anyone could tell it didn't get much sunlight. "Non, _chere_, no one mentioned you was poison at all." He looked up to catch her scowling down at him and lifted a brow in question.

"It don't turn yellow and leak gasses. But you touch me, even accidentally, and I take."

He thought she'd paused, trying to find the words to explain what those in the mutant world often called leaching. "Take what, _cherie_?" He prompted softly, his gaze fixed on her face.

"Everythin'." For a moment, that hard look was gone; the simplicity of the loss in this one near to took his breath away. Then, she turned and even though she was in the room—pulling on a long sleeved shirt and pants over her shorts before shoving her fingers into gloves—the girl was gone.


	3. Chapter 2: In the Gym

**Oddly enough, I still own nothing. Hmph. (Last of the disclaiming.)**

**Chapter 2: **In the Gym

She was sure the Louisianan would leave her alone, now that he was in the know. She'd have her work out back and that's as she wanted it. Rogue pretended she didn't hear the girls whispering about the infamous Gambit, about how he disappeared on missions for months, and when he came back he went out most nights only to return with his eyes heavy and trailing feminine perfume. Rumours were he'd never been a student but he picked one every year to "tutor". But Rogue didn't hear those rumours. Nope. And she certainly pretended she didn't hear the girls saying how much "help" they needed in any subject he chose to teach.

Next morning, between am classes and lunch, she went back to the gym and stripped out of sweats, peeled off her long-sleeved tee. She kept them close in case of emergencies. But just as she was about to tug her gloves off, she hesitated. Just in case he came back she wanted to be able to shake his hand. It would be rude otherwise. And really she shouldn't have been so reckless as to not wear them in the first place. Or so she rationalized as she moved onto a treadmill and set it for an hour's run.

Rogue also told herself she was not watching the door hoping he'd show up again in his low-slung pants and black tank. Which meant she didn't have to whip her head towards a blank TV when he pushed into the room, his mouth all ready moving into a smile as he waved a CD at her. "We gon' share the radio, yeah? Today I bring you N'Awlins, tomorrow you pick." He winked, auburn lashes sweeping down as he closed one eye and Rogue wondered if the man dyed the damned things.

Into her silence the thief kept right on talking as he cranked up his music. "Now, dat's what I'm talkin' 'bout." He closed his eyes and then started singing along as he ambled towards the treadmills, obviously in no rush since there was only one occupied machine. Of course, Rogue would've thought it meant he could choose one farther away from her. Remy would've asked her how she thought they'd talk if he clear across the room. "Aw, now, _chere_, you didn't have to go wearin' no gloves for me. I got my own."

Rogue listened to their machines slowly start to match pace before slanting him a look. "Your gloves don't offer quite the protection you need from me."

"I assure you, _chere_, I don't never touch a woman without knowin' exactly how and where she wants me to touch her." His smile was wicked and, combined with his drawl, did most of the work charming any female he came across.

Anna-Marie was not most women. Her gaze narrowed suspiciously. "Good. Bein' touched by you is about the last thing I'd want." And the last thing she'd expected in response was his laughter. It made it awful hard to keep down the twitch to the left side of her mouth that might have wanted to be a smile.


	4. Chapter 3: Rumour Has It

**Chapter 3:** Rumour Has It

She was sitting with Bobby and John that evening. The boys were arguing about an explosion on screen but Rogue's gaze was unfocused and her attention internal. For once, it had nothing to do with the collateral personalities she'd acquired but a certain lanky mutant. Little wonder, then, that she was startled by a quick tug on her curls. Rogue jerked, whipping her head only to find the irrepressible Cajun sauntering out of the room. He turned back to wink and knew he'd remember that smile. It might have been close lipped and wry, but he'd gotten it.

"You two seem…close." Bobby said when Remy was well-gone. Rogue blinked at the boy, her cool and unwavering gaze finally making him fidget and elaborate. "I only mean—"

"That he works out with you," John interrupted, "touches you."

"No one touches me, John." Rogues voice was hard. Pushing up from her seat, the movie affectively ruined, she looked down at both boys, a strand of white curl obscuring her vision. "Did ya'll think you were always gonna be the only ones wanted to talk t'me?"

Bobby put his hand up, reaching for hers, but he stopped before he actually made contact with her gloves. "C'mon, Rogue, it's not like that."

"Sure it ain't, Bobby."

John barely waited for her to leave before he hissed "Why'd you have to say something?"

"Why'd you have to make it sound like they _do things _together, " Bobby countered. "Everyone knows she can't."

Pyro's fingers lit and Bobby iced them instantly. "There's things she could _do, _over the clothes or with some gloves."

A low, masculine chuckle interrupted the argument that didn't exclusively belong to the boys. The room wasn't exactly unoccupied, everyone had just been pretending, poorly, not to listen. "Ain't dat de truth." Neither Iceman nor Pyro thought the Cajun was being friendly. "But ya'll wouldn't be talkin' 'bout no ladies like dat, would you? 'Cause a gentleman, he don' kiss and tell."

"No, sir," Bobby answered, jaw tight, while Pyro merely shook his head.

"De name's Gambit. I ain't no teacher, _homme_." And he wasn't more than a couple years older than them. _Dieu_, they were young fools, the both of them. A smile, wicked and knowing, slashed across his mouth before he left again and the room exploded into talk.

"Do you think he's kissed her—"

"Without passing out?"

"Maybe more."

"…could do whatever he wanted with me."

Bobby and John turned the television up and kept their mouths shut.

So it was anyone's guess how Rogue heard the rumorus the night's interplay had sparked while Gambit, well, hadn't.

Knowing he was to be at the next Danger Room training, Rogue arrived early, hoping to catch that good for nothing Bayou Boy before any of the others arrived. Luck was with her, for once.

"Rogue, _ma cherie_," she could have sworn his eyes were glowing as she stalked towards him, "you be early. _Bon_. You be on my team, yeah? I don't know 'bout those other fools a'tall." And, in fact, Rogue was right about the glow. Remy was glad to see her and he liked the way she was prowling towards him, her gold-dust skin flushed and her green eyes fixed. Right up until her palms slammed into his chest and shoved.

"How dare you?!" Remy stumbled, unprepared for the blow or the accusation implied in the question.

"_Chere_,-

"Don't you call me that you flea-bitten Swamp Rat."

"Now, Rogue," he held up a placating hand and reached for her with the other-unwisely, a self-preserving voice in his head warned.

"They all think we're, that we're—" She couldn't even say it while looking into his eyes so she swatted the hand about to curl around her wrist as an excuse to look away. "That you and I—that we've been…"

"_Chere_," her gaze came up and Remy had no doubt that if her power had been in her gaze he'd be unconscious on the concrete floor right now. "Rogue. I don't know what you're talking about. Who thinks we're what?"

"That you and me are sleepin' together, Swamp Rat." Remy was, for once, completely surprised but Rogue didn't notice, plowing ahead and stepping even closer. "Everyone seems to think ladies man _Gambit_," there was such acid in what sounded like a title when she said it, "found a way 'round my mutation and I'm just so damn grateful I fell into your lap. Literally."

Thankful she wasn't yelling and not unaware that people were starting to wander in, Remy grabbed her hand and held on tight when she tried to jerk away. His voice, clipped, said only, "_Assez," _as he turned them, effectively shielding her smaller frame from the curious looks. He leaned in, ignoring the lethal look she was giving him, and said without a trace of his trademark playfulness. "Hush now and listen. We can't talk here and now 'bout this, but you tell me: You think they gonna act better if they realize I ain't afraid of you or if you so mad at the thought of someone kissing you that you kick this sorry Cajun's ass in front of 'em?"

He watched her mouth open, no doubt on a hot retort, but he leaned low, close enough his breath feathered her lips as he spoke. "I never told no one we did nothin' , Rogue." When she hesitated, he continued. "I don't spread lies about ladies and especially when I think mebbe you and me could be friends. After de Danger Room session, what say you and I get outta here? Talk dis thing out?" He waited to see if she'd pull away, say no, but again she didn't jump into the opportunity to reject him. So, he smiled slow, some of that playfulness taking the weighty edge off of sincerity, and went in for the kill. (He hoped. She was pretty damn hard to read.) "I'm flattered dey'd tink you'd give me de time a day what with all those other boys buzzin' 'round. Mebbe you don't embarrass me in front of everyone just yet?"

She laughed suddenly and, while he hated realizing it was at her own expense—he knew she thought he was feeding her an impossible line—he was glad she wasn't ripping off her gloves and slamming her hand in his no good face.

"That looks like a yes. Dat a yess, _belle fille_?" He watched her, all but holding his breath, until she finally dipped her chin in a single, sharp nod.

Wolverine's gruff voice cut through then. "All right, come on. We aint' got all day."

So Gambit turned, keeping Rogue's leather gloved hand in his own. When he linked his fingers through hers, half-expecting them to slide away, he could feel her indecision like a vibration before they finally curled over his own.


	5. Chapter 4: Exactly

**So, wow.**** Y'all are amazing and fast with the lovely reviews. One thing everyone said was LONGER CHAPTERS, so here's to that. The first ones and some that are slated for later were really just scenes I'd thought up in my head to pass the time on slow days at work with a loose plot holding it all together. So, we'll be finding out what's going to happen together.**

**Also, I will try to update once a week sometime between Sunday and Tuesday (that is my "weekend").**

**Chapter 4:** Exactly

**H**e'd showered and changed quickly, afraid if she beat him outside he'd have missed his opportunity to fix this. And he wasn't wrong, all ready had her figured with a poker player's accuracy. If he hadn't been out there when she stepped onto the wide stairs of the mansion, the double doors swinging shut under the impetus of their own weight, Rogue would've have gone back inside and written him off and a crowbar wouldn't have helped pry her foul opinion of him loose.

What exactly her current opinion of him was, however, was something of a mystery even to Rogue. "Of course," mumbled out of ear shot, thankfully, as she descended the stairs. Of course he had a motorcycle. Of course he was leaning there in a pair of sunglasses looking inscrutable and, as Kitty's magazines as well as every female at Xavier's would say, hot.

"Do you know how to ride that thing?"

"Of course." The moment she was in reach he captured a hand and encouraged her to get a little closer. "Don't worry, _chere,_ it's just to keep you safe." Proving his point, he brought up a helmet and settled it on her head. The man too his own sweet time adjusting it, brushing her hands away every time she made to take over. When it was finally fastened, he put on his own—rather more efficiently—and climbed onto the back of the motorcycle. Rogue had somehow thought he'd forgo the safety precaution. Self-preservation didn't seem a top priority.

And where was her own, anyway? She couldn't see faces pressed to windows, but that didn't mean they weren't there, watching as she swung on behind him, her thighs cradling his—there was, after all, little option to do otherwise. And how was this helping the rumours, exactly? At least she could keep contact to a minimum, her hands resting lightly at his sides and her torso tilted away from his.

At least, in theory. Turning his head slightly, just enough so Rogue could hear, Remy murmured in that high-summer swelter of a voice, "That ain't good enough, _chere_. Can't have you fallin' off." He pulled her hands around until they splayed against his stomach and the rest of her was plastered to his back. Giving her no time to protest or undo his work, the unrepentant Cajun took off at speeds ensuring Rogue was glad of the forced hold. She'd heard he liked it fast, she'd just thought everyone had only been talking about women.

At five minutes, the ride was longer than she'd expected. She never spent time this physically close to anyone when not fighting. Wolverine was the exception and being pressed up to him on a motorcycle wasn't exactly the same as being pressed up to Gambit. For one, Wolverine smelled familiarly of fresh cut wood and lemon grass and cigars; Gambit, on the other hand, smelled of cigarillos—not quite the same—and left her with the sense of an after-burn of a match-strike and something spicy and earthy that she couldn't name. Wolverine was solidity and reliability; Remy was volatile. It was just too intimate, hugging him around his lean waist, cheek pressed against his shoulder even if it was through the jacket.

But maybe being this close was better than the distance in a car, the kind of space that had to be filled. This way, they each rode tightly together but their thoughts were neatly compartmentalized. Private.

Remy certainly had no idea the petite girl holding onto him was wondering if he liked cherry cigarillos or what his red and black eyes would look like when they stopped warming at the sight of her, when he understood just what she was. When he'd seen her and one of her victims like the students at Xavier's had seen her with Wolverine after he'd accidentally stabbed her and she'd very nearly killed him in return. And Remy had no intention of that same slim girl knowing that he liked the way a single red curl had tangled over his shoulder, into the collar of his jacket where it brushed his cheek and brought to mind apple blossoms. Scare her straight off, he knew, and send her back to silence and gym workouts with nothin' but 80s music to keep her company.

**T**he bike and its riders took the curves fluidly and at high speeds, winding up and away from Xavier's, up and away from the city beyond. The sun was soon blocked by trees just greening and the air took on that particular quality of woods on mountains—crisp-edged, as if it never tasted heat, and thick with the smell of damp and decay in all the ways that made lungs expand and even the most novice of hikers want to trek into the wilderness as if to rediscover America's frontiers.

Eventually, asphalt gave way to a smaller, dirt-packed path and Rogue wondered if he wasn't taking her out there to ditch her. Carrie-esque pranks played out in vivid, blood-splashed detail. She'd been expecting a bar. Even a hole-in-the-wall that reeked of stale cigarettes and had floors sticky with substances it was better not to contemplate had seemed likely and acceptable. She'd figured he'd save the nicer places, the places where he picked up the owners of the perfume he trailed through the halls just before dawn, for times when he didn't have an untouchable pissed off freak to be embarrassed by; she hadn't expected him to chuck her into the woods to escape being seen with her.

He finally stopped, all but on the edge of a cliff, and they both climbed off and hooked their helmets loosely on the handles of his bike. There was certainly no one who was going to happen by and take them. Gambit remained what she guessed was uncharacteristically nonverbal, gesturing to the flat rocks and taking up residence on one so they'd both look out over the sun-bright world below.

She'd just sat down, crossing her legs, leather gloves scraping over rock, when his voice broke the quiet. "All right, _petite_, let's have it."

"Have what?"

Remy looked over the small chin, the hint of a scowl tugging at her winged brows, and the guarded green eyes. "All the things you wanted to yell, _chere_. Cain't no one hear but me and you now," he splayed his hands, gesturing to their isolated location as if he expected her to pick up from where she'd shoved him. When she simply gawped back, apparently struck dumb by his offer, he continued. "I help you find your place, f_ille_. I think it was something like 'You flea-chewed Swamp—'"

"That's enough. " Reliably, a slight smile edged his mouth. "I was pissed off. They were saying—" she stopped, pulling air in through nearly closed lips. "Look, Cajun, you're the one wanted t'talk."

"You sure are cute when you poutin', _ange_." Remy had to swallow a laugh, he was fairly certain she'd growled at him. Obviously, the _petite fille_ spent too much time with the Wolverine. "Rogue, I didn't do this_._ I got a reputation, c_here_, and you, well, so do you."

It wasn't exactly the apology she'd been expecting. "Yeah, for being untouchable. Which doesn't explain –

He held up a hand, arresting the rest of her complaint. "Naw, well, yeah, you do but not just for that." Shifting on the rock to get comfortable, crooking an arm on an up-drawn knee and producing a quarter to flip over the back of his gloved fingers, he took his time studying her in profile. Stubborn. The girl was just pure damn stubborn. _"Chere_, most of dem just don't know what to do with you. They unsure of you, intimidated. You end up in my bed, well, I am de master seducer," his grin was a lightning strike, "and you suddenly just a little more like 'em, yeah? A little less above of 'em all."

The man was obviously insane. "A little less above them? Are you crazy? I ain't nothin' but dirt to most of 'em. If it weren't for Bobby and John—"

"Benny and the firebug part o' why everyone look at you dat way." His free hand came up, stopping the protest as it prepared to launch from lips screwed up into indignation. "Brad's the kinda boy you girls dream about, no?"

He seemed to want an answer and Rogue wasn't about to tell him there was more than one kind of boy girls dreamed about. He'd probably take it exactly as she meant it: he was the other. "Maybe. Some girls, sure."

"Yeah, ya'll scribble his last name with yours and think about you gonna have a picket fence and a golden retriever. But that boy? That sweet dream in a sweater? He ain't got nothin' but eyes for you. And, _petite,_ everyone knows he ain't there tryin' to get in your pants."

"Don't sugarcoat it or anything. I take powers temporarily, that don't make me invincible," muttered darkly back at him.

Remy's responding smile hung crooked and easy on his face, as natural as the crescent moon hung in the sky and equally as alien to Rogue. "What I mean, _chere_, is that no matter how much he want you, he ain't stickin' around thinkin' you gonna give him the _one_ thing _every other_ boy hangin' around _every other_ girl for. And then you got bad attitude firebug, ain't nobody's idea of a prince, doin' the same damn thing. De girls, dey don't know what you got, but they wish they had it."

"Then they're ignorant."

"Mebbe. But you ain't gotta worry anyone's stayin' around to get in your pants, no? And most of them, they figure that's the only reason boys stickin' around with them."'

"Naw, people just hang around me for the novelty."

One bare finger and one gloved one scissored around a curl and tugged. He waited until she'd turned to face him again before saying, "Dat ain't why dem boys hangin' 'round. And it ain't why I am either. "

She was quiet a long time, but Remy Etienne LeBeau was a man with practically infinite patience. No one guessed it. They saw him as a playboy and a gambler, a man who took his gratification immediately and as frequently as he could get it. What only a few were privy too was that his real talent lay in the long game. Rogue didn't stand a chance; she was a pure tyro.

Eventually, her voice drawled, "Did you mean it?"

"If I said it to you I'm sure I did." Rogue's eyes narrowed and Remy's smile widened at the sight. "Did I mean what, Rogue?"

"About us bein' friends?" Her fingers picked at a hole in her jeans, pulling out white threads while she cast him quick sideways glances.

"Oui."

Her brows rose when he failed to elaborate and his smile seemed to pick up, again, in infuriating correlation to her frustration. Exasperated, she bit out, "Why?"

"Mebbe it's the southern connection."

"Try again, Romeo."

He tipped his head back and laughed, all but roared with it. "Mebbe it's dat right there, _petite_. You got some mouth on you."

"I'm sassy enough to be your token un-slept with female side-kick?"

The bitter disgust in her tone only amused him more, plus the moue made with her mouth looked just like she'd tasted something sour and foul. Irresistible, that. He just had to reach out and stroke it. Of course she dodged away from the touch.

"_Non, chere, _sassy enough to keep me inline, honest enough I can trust you, smart enough not to bore me, and pretty enough to stare at most all the hours of the day." When she rolled her eyes in obvious disbelief and dismissal, his smile fell. "_Non._ Dat's de truth, or part of it. Some of the rest you ain't gonna believe just yet and some of the other you don't wanna hear, but that don' change what's true. " Again, a seriousness all those rumours she hadn't heard hadn't prepared her for seemed thick between them. "You decide what you gonna do with it."

Rogue wanted to say his next move had him stalking away but the mutant's long-limbed stridr was too loose for that. No, he was prowling away from her. And while it was exactly why she'd pushed and exactly what she expected—if not now, _soon_—she didn't like the sight of his back, already missed that moon-crooked smile and the dangerous way he invaded her personal space. "Alright."

"Alright, what?"

Rogue took a deep breath. Then another. He didn't try to fill in the words she was struggling with. "Alright. Despite the fact that you got'a reputation two shades darker than black, a tongue practically made from sugar cane—which ain't no compliment so stop your grinnin', and I've only known you three damn days, I believe you. About most of it. The important stuff." His shoulders were shaking as she qualified her conditional belief. Rogue rolled her eyes. "Oh, just laugh, damn it. I believe you didn't tell anyone we were—that you had—that I—_that._ And that you ain't tryin' to get in my pants," the next part was said low and for herself, "mostly 'cause that'd kill ya," before she picked up volume again, "so we can be—try to be—friends." That just felt idiotic to say out loud, especially when he was laughing at her and she knew it.

But when Gambit turned back, prowling again, looking like he was going to snap her up in those strong white teeth and take a nice bite out of her, there was nothing mocking about him. "_Bon. _You gonna love bein' my friend, _chere_."

His voice was practically tangible and if it had been, it would have been touching her in unsafe ways. "Don't make me regret this, Cajun."

"I'm'a make you wonder what took you so long."

"I've only known you for three days."

"Exactly."


	6. Chapter 5: Lecture, Lecture

**Chapter 5:** Lecture, Lecture

Their obvious friendship did nothing to deter the rumours. In fact, just the opposite. So much so that Remy found himself in two very different, very uncomfortable conversations in one day. And just when he was behaving his most admirably towards a female of the species that he wasn't closely related to.

_It was Wolverine in the kitchen with a wrench._ Remy had seen his death writ large on the other man's face for days, every time Logan caught Remy and Rogue together. Whether it was in the gym during their daily workout, teamed up or fighting in the Danger Room, or grabbing a snack in the kitchen. Didn't matter how innocuous the activity, Logan's look read dismemberment, disembowelment-lots of taking him apart, in other words. So Gambit, smart man that he was, should've left the minute the Wolverine came in smeared in grease and a muscle already jumping in his jaw. And that was before he'd even noticed the Cajun. Instead, Remy leaned back against the counter and sipped his beer.

It didn't take long. Wolverine was predictable at least. He growled. That made Remy think of petite little Rogue snarling through her teeth at him and he chuckled, low and throaty and wasted on his current audience. "Hey, _cher_, your bike actin' up?"

Ignoring what he said, Logan opted for scowling at the beer can dangling from the younger man's hands. "Isn't it a little early for that?" His voice was sand-paper and rusty nails, probably needed a tetanus shot just from talking to him.

"Naw, Saturday and we 'bout to cook out. Beers de only drink that's right." A salute of the can punctuated the answer.

Logan snatched his own beer from the fridge, either oblivious to the hypocrisy or just not giving two fucks. Might could be either, Remy figured. "Look, kid, I don't like you."

Feigning shock, Remy placed one swift-fingered hand on his chest. "_Le Bon Dieu!_ I thought me and you was—how your students say it—besties? Or at least frenemies, _cher_."

Logan looked like he wanted to use his teeth instead of his claws to de-throat him. "We don't like each other. You're a reckless smart ass. And that was fine until you got in my way."

"Oh! You want de sink, _homme_? _Pardon."_ With a half-bow and a flourish of his empty hand, Gambit slid out of the way.

"Stop actin' as dumb as I think you are, Gumbo. Rogue ain't gonna be some notch on your belt."

A flicker of irritation went hot in Gambit's gut. Patience, when warranted, he had in abundance, but that didn't mean he didn't also have a wicked temper.

"You ain't gonna hurt her."

"Me? Hurt Rogue?" Remy took a sip of his beer, leaning against the counter as if he felt as casual as his patois sounded. "Like mebbe I shouldn't stab her with my adamantium claws, you mean?" The can Logan was holding was suddenly in structural duress. "_Non?_ You got somethin' else in mind? Mebbe I shouldn't ignore her, exclude her, talk 'bout how she a freak, de kind even de other freaks don' like?" The mild tone was slipping and he set his own beer aside, fingers itching to charge something and fling it at Logan. The other man'd be fine. He could survive just about anything, no?

"Look, bub,-"

"_Assez_. You look, Logan, I know de girl for a week. And I know she ain't doin' jus' fine widout me. You know I can't seduce her a—

"You and I both know you could."

Teeth gritted, ground together, but he pushed on. "I ain't jus' gonna leave her alone like you all have 'cause you say so. She so lonely she cain't see straight and what you doin' about it, _homme_? 'Sides tryin' to scare one out of the three, mebbe four, people who even speak t'her?"

Somehow, between the temper and the words they found themselves toe to toe in the middle of the mansion's spotless kitchen. "She's got friends, Gumbo, better 'en you. Don't tell me how to-"

"Help her? Is anyone even tryin' to teach her to control her mutation? Or ya'll jus' think she screwed? Mebbe you hope she is, Logan; she sure cain't leave you alone if she cain't be with anyone else."

That's when Logan shoved his hands into the lanky, younger mutant and sent him slamming into the counter he'd been leaning on moments before. Remy was about to retaliate when a feminine voice stopped him cold.

"Is there a problem?" Jean Grey. She stood cool and lovely in the doorway, Scott at her back. Once they were in front of the grill they'd look like an ad for a fancy barbecue or a new suburban development catering to young, yuppy couples. Remy still liked her though.

So, his smile was sudden and crooked but it never did reach his red on black eyes. "No, _chere_, just chattin' with my 'ol friend, Logan. T'ink dis chat's over, though." Leaving behind his beer, as well as Jean and Scott and the Wolverine, he went to see if he couldn't settle himself down before the cook out.

Which naturally meant he ran into Ororo half-dancing down the stairs; he wasn't sure if it was good luck or bad that had hold of him, but either way Lady Luck was a bitch. "Remy. Just who I was looking for."

He never let his ambivalence show, his smile smooth as alarm bells sounded. "I love it when beautiful women come looking for me. How may I serve you?"

"Are you joining us for the cookout?"

"Dat's my plan, _belle_. May I escort my favorite lady at Xavier's?" Formally offering his arm, he smiled down at the diminutive and terrifyingly powerful woman.

Arms linked, she started them down the hall. "Am I?"

"My favorite? _Ouis._ You know dis, Ororo."

"I thought maybe you had a new favorite, say with green eyes and —

"Not you too," he practically groaned. Ororo's brows rose in question. "You gonna give me the 'Don't mess with Rogue' speech, yeah? Don't seduce her and leave her inna slum hotel, used, with a coke needle sticking outta her arm?"

Her laugh was incredulous, shocked, but not amused as she stalled him and stepped in his path. "Why would you ever think I would say such a thing to you or think such a thing about you?"

Her faint accent thickened, as he knew it did with strong emotion. Made his skin feel tight. "De Wolverine done read me da riot act 'bout how she got enough friends and don't need no trashy thief."

Remy couldn't look her in the eye. Ororo was one of the few he'd gotten close to outside of his family and she knew too much. Every bit of that knowledge was in her softly spoken, "He's wrong, Remy. Logan's wrong."

"Tell me. Dat girl got mebbe three friends and a whole lotta nothin' else."

"Yes, he's wrong about her, but he's also wrong about you." Fed up with the way he kept looking down the hall as if expecting someone-or hoping for anyone—she placed one hand against his strong jaw. She didn't push. She waited for the young man—Logan forgot he was still so young-to meet her gaze. "You may be a thief, and a gifted one," his smile tugged at her, "but you are also a good man, Remy LeBeau. No—" She could see him folding up, about to put on the charm in order to derail this conversation, but Storm wasn't having any of it. "You cannot hide it from me with sly words and flirtation. I know who you are and what you do for us out there. And I know what it costs you."

They locked eyes for a long time before he tilted his head, pressing his cheek into her palm and pressing his hand over hers to keep it just there. "You undo me. Every time."

Not enough. No one ever got much deeper than that vivid personality. "What I was going to say before your untimely interruption," pointed both in voice and, "is that I wouldn't mind if I was being taken down to your number two spot. I think you'll be good for each other. Don't let her scare you off."

"It ain't like dat."

Storm withdrew her hand, linking their arms once more. "I never said it was. Now, let's eat."

"Yes, ma'am." They resumed walking but Remy had one last thing to say on the subject: "I don't scare easy."

Of course, having a conversation of a personal nature in the hallway of a school for gifted youngsters practically guaranteed someone would overhear it.


	7. Chapter 6: The Cookout

**Thank you for following and commenting and being made of pure awesomeness! Especially thank you for the comments on characterization. I've noticed some typos and will be going back to fix those and the lack of accent marks in the French. Still working on some general formatting stuff I'm dissatisfied with, like how to break in the middle of a chapter without actually making a new one. Also, on the French, I've added a glossary which I will update as needed. Figured that might be easier than doing it at the end of every chapter as a lot of the words and phrases will be used repeatedly.  
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**THANK YOU. Again. I hope you keep enjoying it!  
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**Chapter 6:** Cookout

**W**as he so dangerous that Rogue, the untouchable girl, wasn't even safe in his debauched company? Remy scrubbed a hand over his face, unable to shake the Wolverine's accusations. Sure, Storm had countered them, but the Wolverine had a more accurate view of the Prince of Thieves, or so Gambit thought as he stared out at the cookout.

Rogue was out there, gaze going from Jimmy twirling fire on his hand, to skimming the rest of the yard. Maybe she was looking for Icecube, "Or mebbe she lookin' for you." She was going to have to be disappointed if that was the case. He was feeling just a little raw; enough that he'd ditched Ororo at the door saying he'd left his beer back in the kitchen and he'd be right back out. Bold-faced lie he'd told to the weather witch, too, and one she didn't seem to buy though she let him go.

What did anyone expect? How was he supposed to be a better kind of man or have any kind of anything when every other month he had to put on those old wolf's clothes in order to do his damn job? Mutants everywhere thought he was a free agent whose loyalties could be temporarily purchased for the right price. Couldn't trust the thief no farther than you could throw him, o'course, but he had quite a set of skills—and the most marketable ones had nothin' to do with his mutation.

"_Merde."_

"Is it that bad, then?" Xavier's voice was cultured and warm and it cut through Remy like a knife.

"Professor." Turning slowly, the Cajun schooled his features and tamped down his frustrations.

"I'm sorry I've been away since you returned. I had hoped we'd have a chance to speak sooner than this. Is everything well with you?"

The Professor, he looked worried, and that was the last thing Gambit wanted. "_Mais_ yeah, Professor, the mission went down just like we planned it. Not too much improvisin' required." A wicked smile making the statement that he'd enjoyed what improvising there had been.

"I had heard that, of course, Gambit." Charles' smile was slight, one of those elegant hands turning. "However, I meant rather more personally. I know these missions can be…quite difficult… and the last was more so than most."

"Naw, just a longer one."

"You were imbedded with the Brotherhood during a particularly volatile time and a confrontation with your fellow X-Men."

"I managed to keep away from New York and keep my cover, Professor. Everyone t'inks I come here to get a little information and you let me 'cause you a soft touch." The wolfish smile said he was amused by everyone's perceptions.

But the Professor looked troubled as he turned his wheelchair and gestured for Remy to sit. "I'm rather less worried about your cover remaining in tact than I am how this is all affecting you. There seem to be…concerns, from some of the team since you've returned."

Everything inside Remy went still. Charles too? Charles was worried he was a bad influence on Rogue too? That he was gonna use her? Pervert her? That he wasn't good enough to be friends with that complicated, sad-eyed girl? That he'd twist her need for a friend like that? "Den mebbe it's time I go."

Silence was only momentary and, on Xavier's end, stemmed partially from confusion. "Gambit, I'm sorry, I believe I have mishandled this. Has something happened? Jean expressed her concern to me about the toll this line of work and our extreme reliance on you to accomplish it could have. Hank also." Fingers steepled, brow furrowed, and his warm tone became ripe with regret. "We had planned to speak with you about a lengthier break when you returned this time, but I was called away, and, unfortunately, we have need of you again. And, yet, I don't believe that's what's bothering you now. "

_Merde._ He'd gotten it wrong. "No, Professor. No. Jus'—itichin' to get back to work, yeah?"

Charles knew that to push the young mutant on the point, to try and attempt to force his confidence would bring staunch and charming opposition. Instead, he nodded at Remy's redirect. "Very well. You'll have another several weeks here, but then, I'm afraid, we'll be sending you to Ireland for a time."

"Ain't been there in awhile. Should be fun." Several weeks, was it? He'd make the most of them.

"Yes, well, I don't doubt that you can find a way to make most situations enjoyable, Gambit." Gambit could hear the amused affection and approval charging the Professor's voice. "But, we'll leave the details for later. I have one more person I need to speak with to arrange a meeting. Have you seen, Rogue, by chance?"

"Sure, Professor. She outside, at the cookout."

"Ah, perfect. " When the professor started for the door, Remy moved in front to get it for him.

"I was jus' 'bout to go find her myself, Professor. Why don' I show you where she is." And find out what the Professor wanted with the girl too. His short-lived pity party was off the calendar. If he only had a handful of weeks, he was going to make them count and the Wolverine could sit on his own damn claws and spin.

**O**utside, Remy homed in on Rogue right away. She was with Tweeldee and Tweedledum, o'course. Not that he didn't appreciate their refusal to bow to the masses where the distrust of Rogue was concerned, but damn if he didn't wish it was Colossus or Kitty she was currently laughing at. And she was. Laughing, that is.

"Where y'at, _belle fille_?" Called well before he and the professor were close enough that he wouldn't have had to yell.

Her gaze came up, her smile seeming to brighten as it met his before skimming over Professor X. Remy was already well used to the way she drew up the shadows and blotted out whatever was going on in the quick-fire mind of hers. Her bookends also looked up and, he was pleased to note, looked at him with a hint of trepidation. Remy'd never outed them to Rogue, didn't see how their accidental insinuations being made known would help her. But damn if he didn't like that the thought that he would scared them. Or maybe it was just his devil-red eyes? Didn't care as long as whatever it was didn't wear off.

"John, Bobby. How are you?" They answered the professor; Remy tuned them out. Tuned back in again when the conversation included Rogue. "Rogue, my dear, I was hoping we could resume our sessions as early as this evening? Provided you do not have plans that I would be interfering with."

"Ah, no, sir. Eight o'clock still a'right, Professor?"

"Perfect. I'll see you in my study. I hope you all enjoy the festivities."

'You ain't stayin'?"

"Unfortunately, my extended trip has left a few matters pending and they need my immediate attention. I will be taking some of the fine food with me to my office. I've heard excellent things about the coleslaw."

For whatever reason, that had Rogue's gold-dust skin pinking as the Professor moved off.

Colossus' shout for Bobby and John saved them all from more than a few seconds of awkwardness. "Come! You must join the game!"

"Yeah, sure!" Bobby shouted back, giving John a nudge when he started to protest. "Rogue? You playing?"

"No." Of course she wasn't. How many of her classmates did they hope to make unconscious at the cookout? If the answer was more than five, then she was sure to be picked swiftly for one of the teams, otherwise she figured it was wise to steer clear of contact sports. Or sports with team members. Tennis was probably a safe bet, had she any idea how to play tennis.

Bobby shifted uncomfortably on the balls of his feet, tucking his hands into his cargo shorts before giving a nod. "We'll find you when it's time to eat, okay?"

Gambit was delighted with the noncommittal sound she made in turn and watched the boys run off. "You like scarin' 'em, don't you?"

Nothing feigned in his wolfish white smile. "Sure do, _petite_, an' it so easy." When she moved off, he moved with her, watching as she picked up supplies and started arranging them on one of the picnic tables. "Why you fixin' up de table, _chere_? This here the definition of casual dinin'." Moving in behind her, his body became a cage: hands rested on the table on either side of her hips and he settled his chin to her shoulder. "Leave the work t'Scott. He like borin' stuff."

"Are you calling me boring, Gambit?" Jean's voice again and this time the smile reached the Cajun's eyes. He tipped his head, leaning it against Rogue's so they looked at Jean in tandem, though their expressions couldn't have been more different.

"Of course not, _jolie fille_. You de one exception in his dull life." Scott was also in hearing range, turning the first batch of burgers and hot dogs, but Remy meant for him to hear, would've raised his voice if Cyclops had been further away.

Jean's laughter was rich and as bright as her shining red hair. "Did you hear that, handsome? Gambit says I'm your excitement."

Scott ignored Remy completely, but smiled down into her alabaster face with its shining smile. "He's not as dumb as everyone says, I guess."

Rogue's snort of laughter was worth the insult. "Oh, you think that funny, _petite_?" This time only loud enough for her to hear, his smoky voice right at her ear, mouth so close it brushed auburn strands when he spoke.

"Sure do, _cher." _

How was he not supposed to nuzzle her-her thick curls a skin-to-skin buffer zone-when she sassed him like that? "Now you in trouble."

"Sure I am. Was there somethin' you wanted, Gambit?"

It wasn't the kind of question he usually got asked with exasperation by females. "Mmhm. There's lots o' things I want, _chere_."

Apparently unimpressed, she slapped down the cup she'd been pouring plastic cutlery into. He knew she wouldn't turn, wouldn't risk her their faces brushing, even though it would have been on him for invading her carefully cultivated personal perimeter.

"What do you want with me?" Rogue saw no reason for him to know that his accented whispers and the heat radiating off of his body affected her like any normal, non-poisonous female. Which is to say, he didn't need to know that she enjoyed the attention and felt the tingle of his flirtation, however truly platonic, straight down to her toes.

He made a sort of tsking sound, his tongue tapping the back of his teeth as he nudged her around until they were face to face. "And I thought you don' wan' no more rumours to start, but dere you go askin' dangerous questions in public."

"Gambit," should have sounded like a reproach, but the laugh at the end ruined the affect.

"Rogue." Hands still on her hips, he did lean back a little. "I jus' want you to come out and play, _petite. C'est tout_."

"I am out." She flung her arms wide, nearly knocking him out in the process. Scott's laughter was duly ignored by them both.

"But you ain't havin' any fun."

"Was until you showed up."

He loved that she had a quick mind with a slow drawl, couldn't help but grin as she won the point. "Come on, _petite bouche_, come swimmin' wid me."

Laughter came as recklessly as the suggestion. "Absolutely not. You got a death wish? Half-fingerless gloves tryin' to shake my hand now you wanna swim? Is one of us gonna be in a dive suit, Gambit?"

Did she ever swim? Or only alone? Such a simple thing not to be able to do. Then, she surprised him: "Try again, Cajun."

"A'right. On one condition. If you say no again, you forfeit all say. Means whatever I suggest after that, you gotta do. No matter what."

"I ain't agreein' to that."

"Sure you are, _chere_."

Slim arms he knew to be well defined and strong crossed. "And why is that?"

That slow, wicked smile said it all. He was going to push her until she caved and it could go one of many ways, but most likely they would all embarrass the hell out of her. He didn't even have to say it. Her capitulation came quickly and grudgingly. "You win! Fine!"

"Naw, _chere_, you gotta say it."

Her jaw worked but eventually she bit it out. "If I say no to your next proposition—which had better be reasonable—I will have to do whatever it is you suggest next. Satisfied?"

"Not by a long shot," rumbled. "Dance wid me."

"There ain't no music!"

"So, we sing. Mary Chapin Carpenter, mebbe?" She'd chosen it for their workout two nights ago. "Mm. Shut up and kiss me."

"No. N-n-no, no, no."

"No, we ain't signin' or no we ain't dancin'? You think about that for a minute. I got time."

Skittering her look away from the red on black eyes, too damn knowing by half, and the smile that lurked near his mouth, ready to break free in triumph, Rogue instead watched the football game Colossus was trying to keep organized. Not that a bunch of mutants, aged six and up, could play a normal game of touch football. Still, the chaos was somehow progressing and a score was being tallied.

"We definitely ain't singin'." A pause and she looked back. "And we ain't dancin'. So, now what?"

"Now nothin'."

Her brow furrowed and she swore if his smiles kept getting wider every time she did so she was going to break her own rules and shove her bare hand into one of those toothy, sexy grins. "But you said—"

"I didn' say I was gonna call in my marker right now, _petite_. 'Sides, if I try to drag you away from de food, what you gonna do? Complain. 'Cause I didn' think to pack any birdseed, Pop chock, and I know how you like t'eat."

Yup. That was her luck. Handsome older man and he comments on her appetite and her tendency to get what some people had started referring to as hangry. "I didn't agree to do whatever whenever you decided—"

"Ah, ah, ah. But you did. Jean, was there any time limit on when I suggested a third activity for us to partake in?"

"There was not." Jean's voice was close and Gambit could hear the smile in it. He didn't look, but watched as Rogue did, obviously only just realizing they'd had some sort of audience for the entire exchange. "Nor any other stipulations on circumstance or activity. I'm afraid you've been had, Rogue, and now Remy's holding all the cards."

"Jus' how I like it. _Merci, jolie fille_." Remy leaned back, letting go of jean-clad hips, all smug masculinity. "Want me t'help you set de table den?"

"I want you to go away before I question why I thought bein' your friend was a sound plan."

Remy's laughter drew attention, but damn if the man didn't always draw attention. "For sure, _petite_, it was. I let you do your work and catch you later, _non_?"

Gambit backed away, not taking his eyes off of her until he was several feet away, laughing all the while. Sure, he hadn't found out what those sessions were with Charles, but he would and that had been a fine way to pass the time. And now she owed him one something to be determined. _Ouis_, fine way to pass the time.


	8. Chapter 7: The Hard Questions

**Questions Answered:** Rogue is 17, she'll be turning 18 very soon. Remy is 22. He has just over four years on her. Now, if I were a parent with a 17 year old I'd be all ABSOLUTELY NOT about the age difference. But, their circumstances are different and their lives haven't left either of them at the regular o' level of naivete or maturity. So.  


**Other Things:** I am keeping the glossary separate and it is totally selfish. I don't have a beta so I'm re-reading on my own a lot and I'm updating lots on my weekends, but adding a mini glossary to the bottom of each chapter would be more work than defining the word once and popping it into the glossary. But, mostly, it would cut into my writing time. If it bothers you, maybe you can pull it up in a separate window and just click between? I hope that's okay! And, and maybe you can use it this way for other Romy stories! (Rationalizing, I know.)

**Other Thing #2:** Ack! Thank you all. **LovelySmile**-Unfortunately, this will probably be the last update until next weekend. (I have four ten hour days at work comin' up.) But I'll be back! There will be more drama! And maybe some plot. (I hope I can sort that out while I'm at work this week!) Definitely more Wolverine. I haven't had enough of him in here. But, Remy's going to go away for a bit soon, so, that'll free up some time for Wolverine to get his say in. **Heartbreak Lane**-I would love a fanfiction friend! And I'm absolutely enjoying your story! In fact, if you all are looking for more Romy goodness, pop on over there and read it! (But, no spoilers, I'm still in the early chapters.)

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**Chapter 7:** The Hard Questions

**P**rofessor Xavier's office was somehow always welcoming, despite the fact that it should have intimidated the hell out of her. The tall book shelves, the smell of old leather-and old money-with the heavy desk that bespoke someone important worked here should have added up to a place Anna Marie D'Ancanto had no right being. But, instead, she sank into one of the couches comfortably and sighed as she snugged in. Even though she hated what was about to happen down to the very marrow of her bones, she knew it helped, knew his intentions were golden, and knew that if she were better at handling her mutation then these sessions wouldn't be necessary and Professor X would have several more hours a week to dedicate to more important things than her splintered mind.

The professor didn't see it this way, but he well knew Rogue's take on their sessions together. "Rogue, you're looking lovely today. It's been nearly two weeks since we were last together, have you continued the exercises?"

"Sure have, Professor."

"And are you finding them helpful?"

"I want t'tell you yeah and that I'm doin' just fine, but I don' think so. Some days are better than others, I guess."

"Rogue," he rolled towards her, reaching for her gloved hands, "this is not about what I want to hear, but about how you are progressing. I know it's difficult for you to allow this, to have me in your mind."

"No." She clutched at his hands. "I mean, yeah, I wish you didn't…have to be in my head but it helps. It does. Maybe I'll figure out how to keep them all from talking and takin' over if we keep at it, yeah?" She sighed and a white curl fluttered, she left it so she could leave her hands where they were.

"I think, my dear, that you are harder on yourself than you need be. You have made progress. Let's take a look, shall we?"

**A**fter, always, after, she was drained. Her heart tangled and raw. It's why they'd decided to do the work so late. It was early enough that, on a good day, she could catch a movie with the others or study, but late enough she could retire to her room and stay away from everyone. She had plenty of company in her own head, thanks.

That first night, after the cookout, Remy had been waiting for her. He'd wanted her to watch a movie with him, not his "something" chit, he was saving that. But she'd shook her head and instead he'd walked her back to her room, those damnable eyes of his reading too much as she drug herself up the stairs. Little did she know it wasn't just his gaze, it was his empathy. Little did she know he'd ended up back in Charles' office minutes after she'd shut the door to her room.

"What the hell, Professor? She look like she done watch her best friend and her best boy behind the Quickie-Mart makin' out before killin' her best dog."

"That's a colorful way to put it, Remy." The Professor continued sorting papers on his desk, putting them away or into a basket in some complicated system Remy wasn't privy to and didn't care to understand.

"What de hell happened in here?"

"That's confidential. As you've also been on the receiving end of my confidentiality, I'm sure you can understand why I am not at liberty to tell you more."

Remy leaned over the desk and the Professor's eyes settled on the young man's face. Anguish wasn't something he was used to seeing there. "Professor, she hurts, aches," he slammed a fist into his heart, "I can feel it. She didn't walk in this room with an open wound in her chest but she came out with a shotgun blast right there."

If Rogue had known what Remy could feel from her, or had known what the Professor said to him then, she'd have been furious. It was her damn problem, her damn mind—more or less, and her damn heart. Of course, it was also why it was only a handful of the X-Men who knew Gambit had more punch than his blasting charge. Between the empathy and the way he could manipulate emotion, well, he was perfect for his work, but hard for most people to trust. Unlike Rogue, he had the luxury of keeping some secrets.

What Rogue did know is that every night she'd met with the Professor since then, she'd come into her room to find a care package: drink—water or Deep South sweet tea, some kind of chocolate, and some other little gift. That first time it had been an iPod, shiny and new, but what was on it was the real gift: Music. First song was "Cajun Love Song" by Leon Sullivan. Took her two hours to find out what else he'd put on it. Two nights later she'd gotten chocolate covered peanuts and a daisy chain. It had made her laugh and she'd slept with it close enough to smell while accordions played away her own blues. Friday there had been chocolate covered cherries and a paper crane. They were small things but they made those nights easier, less lonely.

More, he hadn't asked. She couldn't get over that. Two weeks later and he still hadn't asked. And he had that chit and she'd have to answer if he wanted to cash it in, but he never did.

He did disappear some nights and, in turn, Rogue never asked about what he did in the hours after the sun had set and before it rose again. It was fairly obvious where he was and what he was doing. but if he'd been one to brag before, the Cajun was now keeping his conquests under wraps. Not that it meant the students weren't talking.

Sitting down to a late Sunday breakfast, Bobby at her side, Jubilee's voice carried down the table.

"Saw him come in at four a.m. Pretty sure that was a lipstick stain on his shirt."

"I'd put a lipstick stain on his pants." Monet. That was definitely Monet.

"Why ruin a perfectly good pair of pants when you could put it somewhere it'd wash off?" Their laughter was abruptly cut short and Rogue looked up to see just who shut them up.

"Speak of the devil." Bobby's voice was pitched low so only Rogue could here. Sure enough, it was Remy himself in a pair of low slung jeans, a rumpled tank, bare feet, and beard shadowing his jaw. He bee-lined for the coffee as if he wanted to mainline what was in the pot, but settled for a mug, straight black, before ambling in their direction. Kitty just beat him and so they shared the bench across from Rogue and Bobby.

"Rough night, Gambit?" Bobby, unwisely, but in a very polite voice, asked the older man.

"Naw, rough mornin', _cher_, night was great." He smiled lazily and there were sighs, actual girlish sighs, from down the table at the morning after dissipation in his voice.

Kitty bumped his knee with hers and shook her head, apparently unaffected, but then Rogue had noticed they had an easy camaraderie. "4 a.m.? How're you even awake? Or drinking that coffee. One of the teachers made that at, like, seven a.m."

Rogue was the only quiet one, swirling her left over cereal in the milk at the bottom of the bowl. It wasn't like Remy didn't notice. He just grinned at Kitty before aiming those heavy lidded eyes at his never-this-silent Pop Chock. "You have a rough night, too, _petite_? Drink til you think your head gonna pound right off your neck?"

"No, Cajun, that's your bad habit, not mine."

"We could change that."

Jubilee snorted and leaned sideways down the length of the table. "Rogue doesn't drink. Ever. Or party."

Gambit's gaze slid to the girl. She was a little younger than Rogue herself so he tempered his response. "Tough on her bein' smarter than the rest of us. I like a girl who keeps her head on straight an' don't get pressured into nothin' she don't wanna do."

The silence would have stretched if Kitty hadn't leaped into the moment while wary green eyes clashed with red-hot ones. "So, what's everyone's plans for today? I was thinking about the mall."

"Ah, Rogue and I have a date tonight, but the rest of the day is free. Wanna hit the mall?" Bobby tilted his head towards Rogue, his smile sweet and lighting up his whole boyish face.

"Naw, ya'll go ahead. I wanna spend some extra time on combat. Can't seem to get my sweep kick jus' right."

"Gambit?" Kitty nudged him and he looked away from Rogue finally.

"Hm?"

"The mall? Or are you gonna crawl back into bed?"

"Naw, think mebbe Rogue's got the right idea. Been lazy since I been back, could use some extra trainin', me."

"That's just sick. The both of you are sick. Okay, Bobby, be ready in twenty minutes?"

"Sure. I'll justsee if John wants to go too." Sliding out of the table, his breakfast dishes in hand, his blue eyes went from Remy to Rogue. "Seven, right, Rogue?"

"Right, Bobby."

After the others had left, Remy finished his coffee in silence while Rogue rose to rinse her bowl. It wasn't until they were alone in the training room that he called her on it. "A date, _chere_?"

"Yep."

"Dat's all you gon' tell your best friend about it, hm?"

"My best friend, are you, now?"

"Sure I am. Who you spend the most time with? Who you tell all your secrets to?"

Rogue laughed outright which made him smile; even when she was laughing at him Remy couldn't help but smile at the sound. "I do not tell you all my secrets."

"Mebbe you should."

"Do you tell me yours? I'm pretty sure I've never heard you share any details about any date you ever been on, Gambit."

"That's because I ain't never been on one since I known you, _chere_."

They'd stretched while they talked and now she was up, moving into the middle of a mat to work in slow motion through the various forms she'd been taught by Wolverine. Remy joined her. "You were on a date last night."

"That don't count as a date, _petite_."

"Why not?"

Remy looked at her while she looked straight ahead, concentrating on her breathing as she pushed a fist out and moved her body with precision through punches and deflections. "Because I picked up a stranger in a bar, went into an alley, and fucked her. Didn't get her name or her number and hope to _le bon dieu_ I don't ever see her again."

Rogue's arms dropped and she looked at him, dead on, eyes bright. "Why do you do it?"

"Now, _petite_, I know someone's had to have given you the birds and the bees—"

"Don't. Don't you make fun of me 'cause I ain't had sex. Or even anything besides a kiss that put a boy in a coma." His look was stoic, he wasn't going to deny or confirm so she threw up a hand and poked him in the chest with her finger tips. "I know you know. I know they all talk about it. But why d'you do it, when you could have more than that? Someone to hold your hand or to sleep with at night? Why do you just find a random stranger and fuck her and pretend that's all you want."

He hated having her laying it out like that, that as crude as she'd said it the way he lived was far worse. "What make you think I'm pretendin', _chere?"_

"Aren't you?"

Remy didn't answer her, not sure how this conversation, one he'd never wanted to have with her, had come about. "You want t'know, then you answer somethin' for me."

"Fine."

"What d'you do wid de Professor that leaves you lookin' hollow and hurt?"

Rogue sucked in a breath. He'd finally asked and she'd pushed him into it, pushed beyond their adversarial relationship for a real answer that was no real business of hers. A gloved hand ran over the black workout pants covering her hips, they were tight all the way to her ankles just in case she sparred with someone to be sure they wouldn't touch any of her skin.

"I—That's personal."

"So's my sex life."

"I get it. You don't wannaa tell me. You coulda just said."

Gambit snagged her arm as she turned away, twirling her back to him. He shouldn't have followed her here with the hangover and something else making him spoil for a fight, shouldn't have started a conversation about Bingo and her date, but it was done now and they couldn't exactly go back in time and erase it. "I do wanna tell you. Wanna tell you all about everythin', _chere_. But it ain't one way. Friendship, it don't work like dat. You wanna ask de hard questions, you gonna have t'answer some of 'em too."


	9. Chapter 8: None of Your Business

**Update:** I lied. This is indeed an update. I haven't quite fixed the cliff hangeryness of it all with this one. However, I have written another chapter; I'm just not sure I'm happy with it. (I mean, I've sort of been flying through these so I'm trying to slow down and keep the quality up. Who knew writing them would be as addicting as reading them?!)

Thanks again, everyone!

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**Chapter 8:** Checking In

**She** had her date. They held hands. And she had her classes. The professor cancelled their Monday session which left Rogue to work through the exercises on her own, locked in her room. Jean had offered to help on more than one occasion, but Rogue had put the very brilliant doctor off as not wanting one more person in her head than she had already.

Remy wasn't avoiding her, but maybe she was avoiding him. There was definitely a change in their relationship and it was noted. She missed his hands, they'd always been finding an excuse to touch her, settling on her hips, smoothing her curls back, tugging the white-streaked tail when she pulled it up. His hands had been replaced with his gaze, from a distance, and while it was frustrating, it wasn't as satisfying, and she never had the opportunity to verbally spar with the quick-witted Cajun.

Logan was the only one who seemed happy with the turn of events, seen smiling on more than one occasion when the two had come into close proximity and Rogue's sudden need to flee was marked. Except, come the third day, his smile had turned right back into a scowl.

Gambit, he figured there just was no pleasin' some people.

"What the hell did you do, Crawdad?"

Remy looked up from the paper he was reading, the afternoon sun slanting warmly through the library windows. "_Comment les affaires,_ Logan? We barely talked in weeks now. Missed your smilin' face, _mon ami."_

"You come on to her? Push her into somethin'?"

"Not that ol' song and dance, Logan, I thought you'd be more original den dat." The paper was given a shake, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles as he went back to reading.

"You two ain't talkin'."

"Isn't that what you wanted, Wolverine? Seems you should be happy 'bout it." Red on black eyes lifted, moving over the rough featured face, the brawler's body strung taut with tension. "Trouble is she ain't any more happy is she, _ami_? An' you don' like t'see her like dis, no?"

Logan worked hard to hear mockery in the Cajun's voice, but couldn't. "She's my responsibility. I brought her here. Now you tell me what the hell you did to her."

"I don't owe you no explanation, _cher_, you want one go talk to your _responsibility. _I'm readin', me, betterin' m'self."

Logan wanted to jam him through with a couple of steel blades that just happened to reside under his skin, but he didn't. He'd avoided talking to Rogue about the entire Cajun Problem and maybe it was time he confronted her. Going on dates with that Bobby kid, letting this one practically feel her up in public. Damn it, the wildcat was on a tear and he should've stepped in weeks ago.

"You better hope she doesn't tell me anything that'll make me want to hurt you, bub."

"You mean more than you a'ready do?"

LeBeau's indifference lingered, as irritating as a piece of food caught between his teeth. Logan wanted to get to shake it off but he wasn't even sure why the Cajun's low words and less than incendiary reactions were bothering him. So he sought out Rogue, waited for her to come out of some class Scott was teaching that, as a teacher himself (apparently), he probably ought to know the name of, or at least the topic. "Hey, kid."

"Hey, Logan." She smiled at him as if everything was fine. Sure, okay, she was always glad to see him.

"Wanna get lunch?" Quick and to the point. Knew the mansion was no place for the questions he wanted to ask.

"Uh, yeah. Barbecues in the kitchen? I made the slaw last night so it's pretty good and there's plenty of leftovers."

"Nope. Thought we'd go out. Sit down. Order."

If she thought it was weird that he'd stalked her after class and was taking her off the grounds, she wasn't saying They'd had very little time alone together in the last month, since he'd returned from his uninformative jaunt to Alkali Lake. He'd told her that much, that he hadn't found what he was looking for, but beyond that and a lot of scowling since Remy'd come to town, they hadn't done more than exchange a handful of sentences between Danger Room sessions or while sparring. "Let me grab my jacket and put my books away."

"Meet you out front, kid."

Rogue pulled a leather bomber jacket on over her long-sleeved shirt. Didn't matter that it was summer, she had to keep covered up, and the leather was for the bike. Safety first. She also swapped out her ballet slippers for a pair of boots to protect her feet, things Logan had drilled into her about riding with him. It was too nice a day for the truck. Not wasting any more time, she zipped up on the fly, stopping by the front closet where she kept an extra helmet and tried to grab it while extracting her hair from the neck of her jacket. A deep, southern voice and a pair of strong masculine hands intervened. "I got this, _petite_, you jus' makin' a mess."

Her own hands fell to her sides, having had no success with hair or helmet, and fidgeted over the dark green jeans she was wearing while Gambit worked. Much more carefully than Rogue would have managed, he disengaged the heavy mass, gloved fingertips sweeping along the nape of her neck to make sure no strands were still held captive.

"Th-" She coughed, cleared the catch in her throat. "Thanks, sugar."

Behind her, Remy arched a brow. She'd never called him anything nicer than Gambit before and quite a lot besides that was pure venom. "Anytime, _petite_." Missing her, he couldn't quite step away and give the space she seemed to want. "Goin' out again?"

"Yeah," she turned, chewing on the left side of her lip, something he'd never seen her do. "Logan's takin' me t'lunch.""

His lips, always so mobile, went wry. "Order somethin' expensive, yeah?"

Her laughter was a thing he'd known he missed, but not quite how severely until the husky sound was _right there_. "Sure thing." She reached in the closet for the helmet; he turned to go, hands dipping into pockets before her voice, whisper soft, arrested him."Gambit?"

When she didn't speak even after he'd turned back to her, the lanky Louisianan raised a single brow. "Rogue? Did you wan' somethin'?

"Naw, jus'" she pointed to her hair, then touched it, "you know, thanks for the…right. Bye."

_That was just stellar. Really. Idiot._ Shoving the discomfort away as well as feelings that might have edged toward guilt and regret, Rogue tried to be in the moment. She was out with Logan. They were having dinner. Wolverine was all hers for a couple of hours and she planned to enjoy it.

* * *

_**"You** want to know what?"_ Her jaw had unhinged and fallen to the table. It was probably gonna roll right off it and she'd have to pick out lint and food debris when she brought it to Jean to reattach.

Logan licked his lips. "Did Remy try…Did you and that Cajun coonass try to…Did he pressure you to have sex? Is that why you aren't talking to him anymore?"

"Holy shit, Logan."

He was kind of expecting more than that as "Holy Shit" was hard to interpret as either a _yes, kick his ass, please_, or _no, I just realized he's a dumb ass and don't want to talk to him anymore, but go ahead and kick his ass if you want_ –which were the only two responses he'd contemplated.

"Shit. Shit. Holy shit."

The additional shits actually made deciphering the meaning more difficult, but he was beginning to think he should break the thief's fingers on principle. Look at the conversation he was forcing them to have and how he'd apparently broken Rogue's ability to speak; one of Logan's favorite things about her was her tough mouth.

"Is that a yes or a no?"

"Not that it's any of your business, though I expect you'll try to kill him if I don't answer, but no. We ain't like that." Her eyes burned and she could feel her cheeks warming, the embarrassment made visible as embarrassing as the conversation itself. "I'd kill anyone that tried. Even if it was what I wanted, I'd kill 'em and so they'd have to be suicidal to even suggest it."

Wolverine knew this was not a conversation he should be having and yet, who else was there to do it? "Rogue, that isn't exactly true."

"Um, despite my dearth of experience, pretty sure sex involves touchin', Logan."

"Kid, there are ways…There are things you could do that…"

"Are you 'bout to tell me how to give a hand job with gloves on?"

Did he say he liked that mouth of hers? His own went dry and he grabbed his beer, downing it. "There's not just that, kid. Your partner could also wear protection, gloves," _Jesus Christ_, "and…" he gestured to her with a hand, didn't realize exactly _how _he was gesturing until her all ready pink face hit habanero hot. "I'm just sayin', Rogue, you're a beautiful, sensual," _fuck, stop talking._ "It wouldn't be crazy to think men want you…Gumbo and IceyHot are just the first three kids who might find you…you know."

"Sexy enough to risk death by drainin' to get their latex covered hands on my vagina?" He was so uncomfortable and so sort of adorable trying to give her the Rogue-ified version of the safe-sex talk. But it also tweaked her temper. Here she was almost 18 years old and it seemed the indignities brought on by her mutation were multiplying. "What's your take on fellatio with flavored condoms, since we're on the topic? Got a recommended flavor or brand?"

He deserved that. Voice hoarse, like he'd spent a year in the desert without water, the Wolverine backed off: "I get it. You're a smart, creative girl who can kick anyone's ass who gives her any attention she doesn't want. We're done here, baby."

* * *

** The** real horror of it was that the conversation was on repeat later that night when she met with the professor. While Rogue felt she'd acquitted herself admirably on the first go around, by the second she was duly mortified by every third word that had come out of her mouth at the restaurant. And poor Wolverine! He'd been lookin' out for her, as usual, and she'd slapped him back and nearly made him swallow his tongue. She was a bitch. An ungrateful, horrible bitch.

Then there was the Professor—she couldn't even breathe thinking about that scene replaying in her head, her own internal Wolverine as embarrassed as the flesh and blood one had been, while Charles rooted around in there. He'd said nothing, but she knew, she _knew_ that he knew. Not a single one of the people in her brain could shut up about it.

Actually moaning to herself, she drug in her bedroom door and came to a dead stop. There on the bed was a giant Pepsi, chocolate covered pomegranates, and a half of a cheap heart necklace that, on closer inspection, read, "Be-" and underneath that, "Fri-".

That ungrateful part was more accurate than ever. He'd still taken care of her, even with her ignoring him, even with Logan no doubt trying to run him off every time he had the chance.

Friendship didn't work like that. It might have been awhile since she'd really been anyone's friend, but she knew that it wasn't supposed to be just one person making every effort, taking care, doing the work. Putting on the necklace, she gave herself a little time to prepare to do yet another thing she was dreading.


	10. Chapter 9: The Hard Truth

I'm so sorry if you are getting multiple alerts. I forget to add a trigger warning about a discussion of an attempted rape. It's not graphic, but it is mentioned and I did not want anyone to be surprised. Also some other somewhat graphic descriptions of other bad things, so please keep that in mind over the next two chapters.

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**Chapter 9:** The Hard Truth (Part 1)

Her white-gloved fist knocked on Remy's door just after ten o'clock. It sounded timid. As if she hadn't fully committed to the action. Pulling in a breath and preparing to knock again, with some authority this time, she fisted her hand just as the door came open. Remy was on the other side, looking annoyed, half-dressed, and on the verge of telling her to fuck off, but he never did. His free hand, the one not braced on the door, pushed through his dark hair as a frown tugged over his red on black eyes. "Rogue?"

It was difficult to sort out where to look. Rogue had been avoiding his gaze for days, but he wasn't wearing a shirt, only a pair of cotton shorts slung low on his hips. So low, in fact, that she could see the wings of a V disappearing into the top of them. She nearly went cross-eyed staring at his nose. "Can I come in?"

Remy darted looks down the hallway in either direction out of sheer habit before stepping aside and gesturing her in. If she'd had on shoes he would've thought this was a goodbye before she bolted as the girl was zipped into a grey hoodie and wearing dark yoga pants while toting a heavy-looking canvas satchel. But on her feet there were only socks, he thought maybe they had tiny alligators on them. "Let me close de windows, petite, and get the air condition' goin'." He'd covered the vents, preferring the balmy air and the rich smell of the night, fresh cut grass and the promise of rain.

"No, leave it." She fidgeted with the army green strap over her shoulder, only taking enough steps inside the room for him to shut the door behind them.

"You plannin' on getting' heatstroke? 'Cause you stay bundled up like that without the air…" his fingers splayed. They, at least, were covered as she had expected with his signature half-ass gloves. He must've been smoking too, the smell lingered in the room and an ashtray sat by the open window. So did a deck of cards. She knew just how fast his hands were from watching him shuffle, deal, and charge decks like that at poker games she didn't join or in the Danger Room. "Unless you ain't stayin'?"

"I'm stayin'. If you'll let me. I keep my windows open too. Never really liked air conditioning."

"Then take off your jacket." When she slanted him a look identical to the one she'd given him that first night when he'd tried to shake her hand, Remy's smile curled slowly over his mouth. "I put on a shirt, long-sleeves, okay?" She stared for another beat, eventually nodding and placing her satchel on the edge of the bed so she cold un-zip the cotton hoodie. Remy found himself watching the metal claws unclasp, practically riveted, and had to tear himself away to snag a worn, long-sleeved tee shirt from a drawer. Once it was on, he sat on his bed, leaning back against the headboard. "What can I do for you tonight?" With the timid knock he'd been expecting another one of the students hoping he'd initiate them, so to speak. Never occurred to him Rogue was on the other side, acting mysterious.

"I'm sorry."

Remy went still, his restless fingers caught in the act of scraping back his too long hair. "What're you sorry for, _chere?_ Showin' up?"

"No. For avoidin' you." She pulled at the bottom of the black tank, looking like a curvy cat burglar now. Except for the socks. She wiggled her toes and the alligators danced.

"Come on, _petite_, sit down. It's alright."

"It ain't and I want to tell you, answer your question. You been taking care of me for weeks and besides it'll matter to you personally sooner or later," with that cryptic answer she climbed onto the bed, sitting cross legged and edging the satchel in front of her.

"Remember when I explained, 'bout my mutation?" Remy nodded, taking up the opposite side of the bed and stretching out. An arm was tucked behind his head and his back leaned into the heavy wooden headboard. "I said I take everythin' and I left it at that. Well, I do, I meant it, I wasn't exaggerating. When I touch a human, I take their life force, with a mutant—"

"Their power, I know,_ chere_."

"And with either one I take their memories, their personality, essence, soul—whatever you wanna call it. The powers, they fade, the psyches? Well, now, they stick around." He didn't understand, not yet. "When I go have my sessions with the professor, he spends a lot of time talkin' to my other personalities." He could see she was serious, but he wasn't touching that with a nine-foot pole. The laugh, her laugh, sounded startled and strangled. "I know I sound bat shit crazy, but, then, I am."

He didn't like the edge of hysteria in that laugh of hers. "We gonna start tellin' each other how we crazy—and, _petite_, you ain't the only one with a story—then I think it 'bout time you call me Remy. S'what best friends do."

He winked. She touched a fingertip to the cheap gold medallion resting on her chest. No doubt it had ben twenty-five cents and had come in a plastic bubble from a machine at a gas station. Didn't matter. "Anna Marie. D'Ancanto. My name, most people call me-_called _me, Marie."

Once again, he found himself stretching a hand toward the girl with the white-streaked hair and the deep shadow of the swamp eyes. "We ain't most people, Anna Marie. I'm Remy Etienne LeBeau, at your service, day or night." That sinner's smile flashed. "Especially at night."

This time, she took his hand, their gloves keeping them both safe. Even through the material she could feel his heat, but the hold was brief before he sat back again. She tucked her hand into her lap. "Most of the others, they don't know, exactly, how it works. After Ellis Island—do you know 'bout that?"

His hand gestured, a curling motion indicating the white streak in her hair. "I heard."

"Wolverine was in a coma for days and me? I was cravin' cigars, beer, and a hockey game." Remy laughed, as she'd intended. "It faded and he woke up and everyone figured that was the end of it. Everyone 'cept those who really knew what my mutation does. Logan's still up there and so is everyone else."

"Everyone you ever touch is up there?" He tapped his own head with his fingers.

"Everyone I've touched since the mutation manifested. Logan, Magneto, Colossus—he's good about sharin', in the Danger Room." There was a pause, then "Others" and another pause, brief as a blink. "Piotr, Colossus, you know?" She seemed to veer sharply away from that last category: Others. Remy noticed and he noticed the quick flutter of her caged bird heart. "With him I know how much he misses his sister and the scent of the Russian countryside and a couple of swear words that he gets real upset if I use." There was a laugh in her voice and Remy responded to it instantly, his mouth moving to mirror hers though the darkness creeping at her edges was like a siren wail to him.

Rogue focused on the satchel then, dumping its contents between them. A curious jumble of books spilled out, no two the same. There were some with glitter, one with the Ole Miss Rebel on it—at least two dozen scattered on his bed. "These are theirs. Everyone gets a journal. Almost everyone. "

She snagged a book, the football one that seemed like it was about used up and even had papers spilling out. "The first boy I kissed. I wasn't the first girl he kissed, that was Julie Benton two weeks before he asked me out. His mama likes to watch telenovelas even though she don't understand a lick of Spanish." She picked books up, naming the personality they belonged to then moved on to the next. "My momma's. Daddy's. Logan's." She paused with his, almost cradling it. "He'd've never told me half the things I know if I hadn't stolen 'em." She sat his aside carefully, then the largest of the books was hefted. "Magneto. He had me take an awful lot from him. An awful lot."

Green eyes skittered from the book, over the darker green of his walls. "All week I've been cravin' green tea ice cream. You ever had it?"

"Sure, not my favorite." She seemed hectic, recklessly bouncing between fragments of her story, but he went along, voice as sluggish as the swamp and cool as a breeze through the Cyprus tress.

"I couldn't think of anythin' better all week long. So when Bobby and I went out we stopped and got some." The look on her face wasn't right, her lips twisted in an almost reminiscent smile. "I almost threw it up, that's how much I hated the taste of it. Turns out, I hate green tea ice cream. Don't even like regular ol' green tea. Could be the thought from someone I brushed in a crowd or it could be one of the other students, from the training room. The list of possibilities is pretty long. Bobby had t'remind me that my favorite is pralines and cream. After he'd bought me another cone and I about refused to even try it."

"Oh, _petite."_ He didn't say more; the shake of her head and the hummingbird rapidity with which she was telling her story, the erratic stops and starts, warned him off of interruptions.

"Sometimes I get the smell of burning flesh stuck in my nose and in my throat and I gag. Can't eat for days." Tears welled in her luminous eyes as she looked at him. "I want to hate Magneto for what he did to me, but we starved together in an internment camp when we couldn't do what they asked us to do, have to touch my ribs to feel that I'm not still starving," she did so now and cracked his heart, "lost everyone we ever loved because, what, we were born Jewish? And here I am, different again, mutant, hated for nothin' I chose or can change or should have to. So why not just let them burn? Why not let them suffocate and starve and live in filth and cry themselves to sleep, huh?" She slammed the book shut suddenly, but didn't throw it, set it away as carefully as she had done Logan's. Her eyes weren't quite her own when she looked up at Gambit again. "I hate them, the humans. And I want to watch them as they watch someone they love burn."

He hadn't realized this was where that depth of pain came from. He knew better than to let her see what it did to him, though. "You don't hate anyone, Rogue."

But she did. It was there, just like her ability to change the oil in any car in the garage of the mansion without ever having read a book, taken a class, been taught. "It ain't just that or him. I am a monster because I have monsters inside me.

"When I was hitchhikin' there was a man, there were a few, but this one, he liked his girls a little younger, but I was there. I kept telling him to stop but I was pinned in the truck—I'd gotten in, was my own fault. By the time he got his hands under my shirt I'd stopped telling him not to touch me. He didn't make it any further than that with my body or his own road trip."

"Anna Marie." She couldn't hear the raw sound in his voice, too many other voices clambering for attention. She couldn't stop until he could really see what a monster she was, what terrible secrets she kept locked up inside her mind.

"I hope he never woke up. He deserved it, sadistic bastard. Magneto and Logan usually keep him in check; they don't have no use for him." Different personalities paired up, kept others down. It could easily go the other way. They could pair up, take her down.

"And, it hurts—anyone bother to tell you that? Hurts when I take. For me, it's like I'm drownin', but for them," she shook her head, those damp curls spilling forward and obscuring her face as she tucked her chin, fingers skimming from book to book in front of her, "for them it's like havin' every single droplet of blood ripped from your veins and through your skin. Worst pain most of 'em have ever felt. " The words so hushed now that Remy almost missed them. "So, that's my secret."

* * *

**Author's Note:** This chapter came out suuuuper long. So I broke it up a little for the sake of eyes and brains and stuff. Onward! (I'm posting simultaneously.)


	11. Chapter10: The Hard Truth (Part 2)

Update: Ack! Thanks everyone. Somehow it posted this chapter twice in itself. Which , I have no idea how it happened. Thanks for lettin' me know. It is fixed.

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**Chapter 10:** The Hard Truth (Part 2)

_So, that's my secret._

"I've got…a lot people livin' inside and they ain't all kind; what they know, what they feel I know and I feel too. And sometimes they get tired of just squattin' and want to take a turn at the wheel." She held one of the journals in her hands, turning it over and over, fluttering the pages but not really opening it.

"C'mere, _catin."_ Her gaze shot up and she shook her head. Remy's smile was wry. "I ain't gonna touch, not like that." He shoved the books aside carefully and stretched his hand out for her. "Jus' c'mere."

She weighed her options-take his hand or don't-for a long time, but he was patient and he waited and eventually she placed her fingertips in his. He helped her scramble over the bed then tucked her into his side.

"You will touch me, eventually, or I will you. Bound to happen on accident, on a mission, in training—Then you won't have any choices about what you tell me. About what I know. I shouldn't have pushed about your—" her hand fluttered in the air and he caught it, cutting her off as she stared at their linked fingers.

"Hush, now. I ain't worried about what will or won't happen 'cause I ain't scared of your touch, _petite_." He pressed her hand to his chest, held it against the easy, steady beat of his heart. "The journals, they help at all?"

She leaned away from him just enough to pick up the journal she'd been turning in her hands a moment before. She offered it to him, had to help him get it open, settled in his hand as he wasn't giving up the hold he had on her, one arm wrapped around her shoulders. Even jerked her chin at it, "Go on."

_This book belongs to Anna Marie D'Ancanto._

_I was born in Meridian Mississippi._

_I was 16 when my mutation manifested._

_I am a leach and I take life and powers and psyches._

_If you are in my body, I'd like it back. I never meant to hurt you. Probably. Unless maybe you deserved it. I certainly didn't mean to trap any part of you in myself._

Remy stopped reading, set the book on his dresser, and touched her chin with his covered knuckles. "I won't let you forget who you are."

"Remy, eventually I'm gonna take too much, absorb someone stronger than me, or have so much in there one of 'em inside is gonna see their chance and take it."

"It's hard and it's devastatin' and I'm so damn sorry you have to go through that. But you are mebbe the strongest and bravest and best person I ever know." Cupping her cheek, burying his exposed fingers in her thick curls, he kept their gazes locked. "You ever need a bouncer up there, you just let me know."

Rogue buried her laugh in his shoulder, arms wrapping around his waist finally. "That's what's happenin' next."

"What? _Chere,_ I cain't here you if you gonna talk to m'shoulder."

She pulled away enough to look into his face again, so close their breath mingled. Dangerously close. "The Professor. He's tried teaching me to make walls. Put some up himself and had me reinforcin' 'em. Tried reasonin' with the other folks jawin' up there, but so far no luck. He thinks I should maybe take from him, that if he were in my head he could show me how or, or do it himself, the walls to keep the worst of them from, from taking over."

"How you feel about dat?" He rubbed circles on the small of her back and drifted fingers through her hair, not moving away from her though there was a great deal of honey warm skin close to his own. Not moving closer, even though there was a great deal of honey warm skin close to his own.

"Not real sure, sugar. I mean, Professor X takin' up residence in your head sound like a lot of fun?"

Remy snorted at the dry tone and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Me an' de Professor don' see eye to eye on a number of the mos' fun things."  
"Exactly. And I get to have precious little of that kind of fun as it is."

Precious little? Did that mean that she'd had some of that kind of fun? Some of that kind of fun with Bobby on their date? His eyes narrowed at her and she sniffled. "What?"

"Did Bobby try anythin' with you?"

Her sudden, belly deep, bawdy laugh took him by complete surprise. She actually braced herself on his shoulders and shook them both she was laughing so hard. Remy found himself laughing with her. "You gon' let me in on the joke, Anna Marie?"

"You'll hate it." She giggled. His viper tongued steel magnolia actually giggled as she tried to swallow her hilarity.

"'fess up, petite. I got you here an' I ain't lettin' you go until you tell me what got you so tickled."

"That's—" she hiccupped a laugh, "that's _exactly_ what Wolverine wanted to know about you!" Rogue busted up again.

Remy was suddenly far less amused. "Wolverine talk to you 'bout me and you…"

"Sure, sugar, you tryin' to have sex with me. I think he was even thinkin' about givin' me a detailed explanation on Rogue-safe sex complete with latex."

Remy was sure she thought that was funny by the way she was grinning at him, all sass and bright eyes from her recent tears. "Was he now?"

"Mmhmm. I asked what his thoughts were on flavored condoms but—"

"Favorable."

"What?" Rogue wiped a different kind of tear from her eye, grin suspended and head tipped as she hadn't quite caught on.

"My thoughts on flavored condoms, flavored oils—they're favorable. Don't wanna know de Wolverine's though." Remy kept a close eye on her as she swallowed thickly and the fingers on his shoulder flexed.

"I, ah, wasn't really askin'," weakly.

"Jus' in case you ever need t'know, _petite."_ There was something in his low voice, in the near-glow of his gaze- she wondered if this was at all how he was when actually trying to seduce someone. Rogue could certainly see how it would work.

"Like I told Logan, only a man with a death wish would try to anything with me."

"_Chere_, I don't_ try_ nothin', I _do_ and I aim to be the best at everythin' I choose t'do."

What could she say to that? When her mouth was dry and he was holding her close even after everything she'd confessed ? Of course, that was just a heartbeat of thought, didn't even count. She did find her voice and, as usual when she felt unsure, it was acerbic. "No doubt you think you are."

And that perhaps serious look melted away, his grin charming and wicked and slick. "Oh, _petite_, you wanna find out for your own self? I wouldn't want you to take my word on nothin'."

Rogue hoped he didn't notice the way her breath jittered before she managed a laugh and a quick smack to his shoulder. "Okay, Cajun, that's enough of that. I'm sufficiently distracted from tellin' you the sordid crazy that's my brain."

"Anna Marie, you ain't crazy," her eyes were wide and close, little chips of amber visible in the green, "you complicated." His smile came with the sunburst of her laughter. Smoothing those thick curls back, holding onto a white strand and twirling it over his fingers, he watched the play of that laugh on her face. "I mean that, though. You holdin' it together and any time you need anything-you come to Remy, yeah?" He'd hold her together for a while, if she needed.

"It don't bother you none? That I…that I can't tell you if the first time I rode a bike was in the park or at the beach because I remember both like they were me? Or that tomorrow I could come out swingin' or end up hittin' on a pretty brunette with a curvy waist 'cause Logan has a thing for 'em?"

"Any time, and, _chere,_ I do mean _anytime_, you get the urge to hit on a curvy brunette, you jus' call me up and I be the best kind'a friend you ain't never had before." Her small fist packed quite a punch, even mostly playfully. He rubbed his arm with a pout before sobering. "_Petite_, jus' 'cause they in your head, don' make 'em you. Jus' 'cause Magneto hates damn near everyone and some...you got some bad people up there, you ain't bad people. You ever forget who you are, I'm'a remind you. Might mebbe take some liberties with how you feel about this Acadian Adonis, but…"

Could it be that easy? She told him the worst of it and he held her in his strong arms and made a vow to help her? Made her laugh and somehow took a little of the weight she'd been hauling alone since she was 16. No wonder people were always tellin' her to make friends.

"Remy?"

"Yeah, _petite_?"

"Maybe, I can just stay here for awhile, if you don't mind."

Remy tipped his head into hers, breathing in the damp scent of her hair, holding her small frame hard against his. "I don' mind a'tall, _chere_. 'fact is, I think you belong right here."

She pressed her cheek against his chest, all but nuzzling into him. "Bet you say that to all the girls."

He did. But this was the first time he'd meant it.

* * *

**Author's Note:** So, these two chapters were frustrating! We'll get to some more funny and drama, I think, next chapter. Also, thanks for sticking around as I put on paper what was initially meant to just be a romp in my head to pass the time.

Got questions? I'll answer them! In a review or a PM. Otherwise, it has been an exhausting work week and I don't know if I'll get the next chapter up before next Sunday. But I will try!


	12. Chapter 11: Later, Gator

**Author's Note:** Sorry this one took a bit longer. Had to work out some things from the next chapter as ya'll are really gettng this as I write it. But I'm hoping not to drop the ball on any plotty/foreshadowing things. Also, next chapter is nearly done, should be up in just a couple of days.

Also! **New People:** WELCOME! **People who have been with this since the beginning:** THANK YOU! I started to name you all individually here and realized that would take me forevah and the Benadryl is kickin' in. So, I just want you to know you all are lovely, wonderful people and I'm glad you enjoy spending time in my fantasy land too! It's nice to have company!

* * *

**Chapter 11:** Later, Gator

**It** should have been weird. It's what she was expecting. That, as great as Remy had been, come the clear light of day, he'd hesitate over her confession and what it would mean for him eventually, inevitably. But Remy LeBeau, Gambit, Prince of Thieves-whatever name he was going by-was more than what he seemed to most. In fact, the morning after, as Rogue sat with her knee just pressing against Bobby's, a tenuous touch for a tenuous relationship, Remy had swaggered in, nudged his way between them, and looped his arm familiarly over her shoulder before snagging bites of breakfast from her plate.

"Get your own, Cajun."

"Why, _petite_, when yours tastes better?"

And later, when he'd returned her personal journal, having been left behind on his nightstand, he handed it over, pulled a lock of her hair. "Forgot this, _chere_. Now, you gonna try t'beat me in de Danger Room? 'Cause I'm thinkin' we should bet on it."

A day passed and then another and still nothing was different. Or, at least, not bad different or awkward different.

* * *

**Of course, **everything was different. Now, he knew what she was going through, why she was skittish of her skin. It wasn't right, someone as passionate as Anna Marie, wrapped up in fabric and untouchable for the rest of her life. He wouldn't believe that, couldn't believe there wasn't something could be done. Just wasn't sure what that something was yet.

"Just go talk to her." Kitty flopped down beside him on the couch.

"Hm?" Distracted black-jack eyes swung from the window to the brunette beside him.

"You've been staring at Rogue for ten minutes at least. It's getting creepy. So, just go talk to her."

A slow curl of his lips read as wry amusement before thief's fingers tugged a lock of brown hair. "I ain't not talkin' to her, _'tite chatte_."

"Spying on her, then? Her and Bobby?" Kitty arched a brow. She had sardonic down pat.

"Nah, jus' enjoyin' the view even if Princess Elsa does get in de way."

Kitty's laugh was quick and she bumped the Cajun with her shoulder. "Make sure I'm there when you say that to his face." Then, her brown eyes followed Remy's to the window which framed Rogue and Bobby sitting in the grass, apparently drinking in the sunshine and talking between bouts of tentative flirtatious touching via tickling or slaps, the former being initiated by Bobby and the latter by Rogue. "But, really, Gambit, it's creeptastic that you are watching them like a television show."

His rich, low laugh warmed Kitty right down to her toes. "Alright, alright. What you want,_ petite_? For me to go interrupt? I think mebbe Rogue's startin' to get annoyed with that."

"Just startin', bub?" Wolverine's voice rumbled, causing the pair on the couch to look over their shoulders. "Stalking's a crime in the state of New York."

"Yeah, you been picked up for it a few times, _homme_?"

Kitty whipped her head around to hide the smile she was failing to squash.

"Chuck wants t'see you, Gumbo." Wolverine ignored the jibe, crossing arms across his broad chest.

"Ah, thanks for deliverin' the message. Fresh out'a treats, though, want me t'scratch behind your ears?" Wolverine's answering growl had Remy's teeth flashing. Kitty's ducked-head and snorting fake cough encouraged a low chuckle and a hair ruffle from the Cajun.. "_Non?_ Well, don' say I never offered." He was still grinning as he reached the Professor's office and knocked at the jamb of the wide open door.

It still surprised Remy some, the professor's easy smiles and faith, both evident on his face as he looked up from whatever he was working on. "Gambit, thank you for coming."

"Sure thing, Professor. Want I should close the door?"

"Ah, no Storm is actually," the smile appeared again and Remy looked behind him to see what the Professor's eyes were tracking. He found the white-haired weather witch stepping in behind the thief and closing the door as the Professor finished, "sitting in with us. And, please do have a seat."

Xavier wheeled around his desk, positioning himself at a table with a teapot and three cups set out. He poured them each their preference without needing to ask. Once the tea was tasted, Charles began. "I'm afraid, Gambit, that your brief interlude with us is at an end."

"_Ouis?"_

"Beginning tomorrow we'll have need of you in Ireland. Storm will accompany you long enough to retrieve the daughter of a friend; the young lady will be attending the school for a time. While Storm returns her here, you'll be heading to an estate in county Mayo to assist another close friend, Dr. Moira MacTaggert. She is in need of an extra guard and a savvy escort."

Remy'd sipped his tea while the professor explained, couldn't help but notice this wasn't his usual kind of assignment. "An escort?" Setting his cup aside, the lanky mutant leaned forward, forearms to the dark wash jeans hugging his thighs. "Escort where?"

Storm's answered, "From Ireland to a secure location in Scotland. But, you'll be in Ireland as a guard until she's prepared to move on."

"Dr. MacTaggert," Charles picked up, "is a geneticist with a particularly keen interest in mutant genetics. She's used a family estate as a base of operations for quite some time but feels it is now necessary to move to a more secure location; she has worked towards that end for several years and is very nearly ready to transfer the last of her research materials to Muir Island."

"I don' mind the work, Professor, but you sure I'm de man for the job?"

"I am hoping, Remy, that this will be a relaxing assignment. It is one that may call upon your varied skills-Dr. MacTaggert would very much like a consultation on her security at Muir Island-" the Professor's smile was both appreciative and amused which Remy took as compliments both, "but it is not one that should require more than a few months of your time and it does not require that you masquerade as anyone."

They needed a thief to stop potential thieves. Until the doctor's work was moved, it was vulnerable; while it was, perhaps the last time it would ever be quite so vulnerable, it made an enticing target for certain parties. He was no geneticist, but it wasn't lost on Gambit the kind of records and information she must have on the mutant community.

"Furthermore, you will be able and encouraged to stay in contact with the school."

A long silence stretched after that first-ever caveat. Usually, he was deep under cover and was only to contact Storm or the Professor when necessary. Which meant: "With Rogue, you mean?"

Storm knew, though his voice was light, that there was a wall being slammed up behind the words. Her slim, elegant hand settled on his forearm. "Whatever you are thinking, Remy, stop." Only when red on black eyes had settled on her own did Ororo continue. "Rogue has very few confidantes. We think it would be detrimental for her if one of the few she has chosen to trust should simply disappear, and unnecessarily so as this particular assignment does not hold the same risks as your usual ones. And we don't want you to continue to be isolated. Charles only means that this is an opportunity not to stay such for either of you."

Storm could practically see the Cajun's suspicion, as if there were ulterior motives; motives beyond safeguarding his and Rogue's mental health and the friendship he had cultivated that contributed to it. "A'right, den. When we leavin', Ro?"

"Tomorrow," she glanced at the Professor, asking rather than stating.

Xavier nodded. "Yes, tomorrow morning will be soon enough. There is no particular threat to either the student or Dr. MacTaggert. Storm will fill you in on further details once you are under way. Thank you, as always, Gambit."

Dismissed, Remy left to find Rogue.

She was, of course, with Bobby. Although they appeared to be doing homework. And holding hands. His gaze narrowed on the Polo poster boy's bare fingers laced with her gloved ones before smoothing out his expression. "Rogue, near time for our workout. Think we could start early, _petite_?"

Rogue glanced up at the sound of his voice clearing even before he'd spoken. She recognized it. Expected a joke and nudging Bobby away just to tweak Bobby's patience; Remy seemed to want to see the All-American snap. When neither came she suspected a more serious agenda. When she'd come to be capable of parsing Gambit's sentences so easily, she didn't know, but she was sure the Cajun wanted to talk and was equally unwilling to say he wanted to talk. "Sure thing, Gambit. Fifteen minutes? We just got one more question and I gotta change."

"_Mais yeah, petite_." 'Course, whatever he wanted to talk about, however serious or not, he walked away whistling Frosty the Snowman.

But, instead, when she reached her room and stepped inside, Remy was in her window. Well, leaning against it, legs crossed at the ankles, hands braced on the sill. "Breaking and entering?" She sounded far calmer than she should have considering the way the figure, not immediately recognized as more than intruder, had sent adrenaline pumping through her.

"Ah, jus' enterin'. Don' really wanna work out tonight, _petite_."

"Then…"

"Wanted t'talk, yeah? We don' have to stay in your room none. I tried not to look 'round too much."

But the way he said that, overtly innocent, had Rogue's gaze narrowing and skimming her room. "What did you look at?"

Gambit's smile was only mildly distracting. "Okay, Pop Chock, if you insist on stayin' here…" he strolled to her bed and sprawled out on the striped comforter.

He shouldn't have looked good there, but he did. So Rogue swatted his hip. "Scoot over, _Gumbo_," not said without cracking a smile as he sat up and sat back against her headboard, just giving her enough room to edge onto the side, hip to his thigh. "Out with it. Last time you wanted to talk it was to swear you weren't spreadin' rumours about our sex life."

She could have sworn he purred. "Mm. I do like the sound of that,_ chere_. Our—" a gloved hand stopped his words but didn't quite contain the laugh against the leather covered palm. Peeling her hand away but not letting it go, Remy passed his thumb over her knuckles. "I'm leavin' in the mornin', _petite_. Got my new mission."

"Oh."

He searched her face after the single syllable reply. "Now, I know you gonna miss me," watched a smile tug at the edge of her lips, eking out a grudging existence on her too often too serious face, "but I been assured I can keep in touch this go 'round. I was thinkin' we could talk on the computer so you could see my handsome face, _ouis?"_

"How long you gonna be gone for?"

"Don't know. Never do. But, they thinkin' it won't be too long and then _I'm_ thinkin' I'm due a real vacation. Maybe take you somewhere sunny where you have to lose a couple layers after you graduate."

Rogue snorted and checked him with her hip. "Death wish. When you gonna get over that, Cajun?"

"When you gonna figure out seein' your skin ain't lethal?"

"Seein' is just a step away from touchin', sugar, and you got a serious problem with 'look, don't touch'."

Rogue's sassiness did not earn her the expected reply from Gambit, no quick smile or innuendo. Instead, he carefully tangled their fingers together. "I meant it, you know."

"Meant what?" He looked up, then reached out and traced the small heart hidden beneath her shirt. How he knew it was on the long chain she kept tucked in her clothes, Rogue had no idea. "Me too, Remy."


	13. Chapter 12: The X-Gene

**Notes:** Hello to everyone who is new to the story! And yay for all of you sticking with me! Upcoming-I am not a scientist or a geneticist, so if any of y'all are, please try and excuse egregious errors in logic. Thank you, than you, thank you for the continuing reviews, the favorites, and the follows! Don't worry, through the magic of technology there will not be a lack ROMY-centered interaction. (Because that's what I'm all about.)

Otherwise, my dog is a very sick pup so it might be another week before the next update. He has an autoimmune disease and the meds for it have been taking a pretty rough toll. A draft is written, so if a reread tells me it is better than I currently think, you might get it sooner rather than later. Read on!

* * *

**Chapter 12:** The X-Gene

"The X-gene isn't new," the rich, round feminine tones had hints of Scotland, not Ireland, a brogue that expanded along with the hand gestures as the speaker grew more passionate. "Examining historical texts should lead anyone to the conclusion that it has been switching on for centuries. Do we really believe anyone mistook a manatee for a mermaid? Some sea monster, surely, but a mermaid? And what of sirens? And the gods themselves? Was Aphrodite the Goddess of Love or a woman with a mutation that affected sexuality or pheromones? Zeus's lightning is no stretch of the imagination, not when one knows Storm. That aside, however," a hand waved, brushing the tangent away, "the real questions concern why it has become so prevalent to have a switched on X-gene and what other factors account for such wide variations in mutations. What combinations of dominant and recessive genes create wings over a healing factor? Does the body chemistry of the mother affect how a mutation manifests or if the X-gene is turned on at all? By studying mutants and their offspring over generations we'll have a far better understanding of mutant genetics. And, in understanding that, we might be able to turn off a mutation altogether through gene therapy or even switch off only portions of a given mutation."

"Turn it off, like a cure?"

"I don't think of it like that." Doctor Moira MacTaggert shook her head, quick and vehement negation of the idea of a cure. "Mutation isn't disease. Although, yes, for some, it would no doubt seem like a cure. For those that can't gain control of their mutation, for instance."

"An' who decides who gets de treatment? A parent when they find out their kid got the X-gene? The government?"

"Gambit," she took a deep breath, her slim body practically vibrating with it. She was a small package, Gambit thought, for such massive passion and intellect to be housed in. "It's complicated. I know the implications of my work can be…concerning and will perhaps create difficult ethical situations we'll have to learn to navigate humanely, but there's a great deal to be gained-even from the less savory applications such as apprehension and containment of mutant criminals."

"Why not let other mutants handle that?"

"Because they aren't a mutant problem. They're a human one. All mutants are human and all criminals, mutant or not, are a problem for all of society to deal with." Slender hands, devoid of jewelry, came together. Elegant fingers formed a steeple as if providing a focal point for her next statements. "Ideally mutants would be openly integrated in society; if their mutations aided them in their work so much the better. However, even then, containing a Class Five mutant-Well, consider: How would you stop, let alone contain over a long period, a Class Five mutant bent on destruction? Is there, at present, an option besides euthanizing the mutant in question? And, let us keep in mind, that option may only be exercised if one is able to take out such a power." She barely gave him time to consider the question before elaborating. "Furthermore, what if that mutant is a child, or even an adult, not so much bent on destruction but rather incapable of containing his abilities? What if we could find a temporary restraint that would allow an individual to slowly learn to control her abilities, in increments, without endangering others, with the ultimate goal of weaning her off any restraint at all? And, then, of course-" She stopped midsentence, her smile suddenly apologetic. "I'm sorry—you literally just walked in the door and I've found my way onto my soapbox."

"_Non, chere._ It's interestin'. An' I got the feeling if you were in charge dat's how you'd run things. But, Doc, you ain't the government in the United States or Russia or Bolivia. You ain't the U.N. Council on Mutant Affairs. You ain't the popular opinion held by the rest of the humans out there.

Moira sighed, rumpling blonde curls and wearing a disgruntled expression. "I know. Which is why were moving all of my research to Muir Island and, frankly, why Charles recommended you for this undertaking.

"Oh, yeah? He tell you 'bout my mutation?"

Moira's laugh was clear, like the breeze-whipped bell of a well-made wind chime. "Of course not. He did tell me that you are an accomplished thief who could help trouble shoot weak spots in our security." Remy could see something mischievous in her smile. "And that your mutation would prove invaluable on the road, though he declined to explain what it was or why.

Remy's own chuckle was low and smoky. "I'm just invaluable, me, with this charmin' personality."

"He also said to watch you around my female staff."

"Only if dat's what you're into, _chere_."

* * *

"As soon as you walked in the door?"

Remy was grinning at Rogue over their 3,000 mile separation. "She's smart, _petite_. I think you'd like her." The Cajun twisted onto his side, scooting the laptop back a little. He'd already given Rogue a virtual tour of his plush accommodations.

Cassidy Keep was a damn castle. He'd felt his thief's heart give a pang of longing when he'd first rode up on the motorcycle Sean had lent him for the drive from Dublin to County Mayo. Turned out the whole Ireland to-do was a family affair as Storm picked up Sean's daughter while Gambit was dispatched to care for his beloved partner, the brilliant and verbose Doctor MacTaggert. Sure enough he liked all three of the Cassidy-MacTaggerts, but his fingers itched still to pick locks and pockets, eager to hold the kind of heirlooms hidden in state of the art safes behind centuries old oil paintings. Ah, to be here on less legitimate business would be a dream.

"Sugar, if she could cure me, I'd marry her."

"You don't need cured, Anna Marie, you ain't sick."

Remy's tone arrested her. She'd been moving around her room, settling in for the night. While at Castle Cassidy the time was two a.m., back in New York it was only just nine. She'd been gathering up homework to take, along with Remy, to the comforts of her bed when his sharp tone stopped her cold. It was so un-Remy-like. "It ain't like yours."

"Or maybe it is, _chere_. The Doctor, she's been talking a lot since I got here and I been listenin'. Maybe you just ain't found the right way to control your mutation."

"Or maybe I cain't. Scott never has figured it out. Take away his visor and the man is a menace. And he's hardly the only one. Wolverine can retract his claws, but he never stops all the other stuff." Hugging her books tight to her chest, Rogue shook her head, thick curls swinging over her shoulders. "I want to believe there's a way-"

"Then stop soundin' so damn sorry for yourself, Rogue, and start tryin' somethin', anythin'."

Rogue carried those words over the rest of the argument that followed after. Is that what she was doing? All she and the professor ever had time to work on was keeping her sane, had she given up on figuring out how to control her venomous skin? Hell, had she ever really tried or was she so damn afraid that it wouldn't work that she'd never given a real go at it?

It took her most of the day to work up the courage to find Jean. Bobby kept giving her strange looks and John had flat out asked what had crawled up her ass, but she wasn't ready to share this with them. Besides, what was _this _besides some questions?

She found Jean in medical, the slim redhead filling out paper work and looking like she should be the poster girl for a posh medical school. Jean wore soft linen pants in rose, a green silk shirt that buttoned to her neck but left her milk-white arms bare. Gold glinted at her ears and wrists, no doubt made to match the fine chain hanging around the column of her neck.

It had Rogue looking down at herself, bright red gloves climbing halfway to her elbows, a tee-shirt for Joan Jett and the Blackhearts she'd lifted from a thrift store when she'd been on the road with Logan, tights under jean shorts, and black boots made for motorcycles and kickin' ass. She didn't have to look to know her skunk-striped hair was curling extra wildly in the humidity of the New York summer. She huffed a sigh. Should maybe have put in a little more effort if for nothing else than a boost to her confidence before hunting up the ever elegant doctor.

Apparently, the huff was enough to bring eyes a far softer green than her own up from their work. A smile immediately bloomed on Jean's face. "Rogue. How are you?" The smile was tempered with just a hint of concern. "Are you feeling well?"

Rogue considered abandoning the idea. Saying she had a headache and couldn't find any Tylenol. 'Course, a Rogue headache put people on yellow alert in case it was a renegade personality making a move on the controls. "I'm fine, Dr. Grey," she winced, mentally rolled her eyes, "Jean. Um. I had some questions but they can wait. You look busy and I'm not important, well, they're not. So, never mind."

"Rogue, please, stay. You aren't interrupting and you, and your questions, are very important to me." Jean's voice was soft, the kind of soft that Rogue wasn't sure whether to trust and sink right into or back away from slowly because usually that sort of kind was an act. "Please? I'd really love to help you, with anything. If it's about boys or sex then I—"

"No. God. Is everyone in this mansion gonna try and give me the talk?" She mumbled it to herself while Jean's pale cheeks went pink. "It's about my mutation." Finally, Rogue came all the way in and sat across from Jean on a metal stool. Ankles were hooked on the rails and her red-gloved fingers fidgeted with each other. "I was talkin' to—Well I realized that maybe I haven't tried all that hard to, you know, turn it off. Or figure out how it works. Mostly I just try to keep away from people and shut the ones already in my head up. Do you think-is there something I might try that would-is there more that I could be doing? Something more active to figure out if I have an off switch?"


	14. Chapter 13: Midnight Calling

So, from your comments (particularly Heartbreak Lane's-you were so right!) I realized this next "chapter" really should have been added to the last one instead of acting as the beginning of a new chapter. Instead of updating the last chapter and risk some of you missing it, I'm adding this mini chapter here and will get you a full length chapter as soon as I am able.**  
**

Thanks for the wishes for Chaucer, my dog. He is a mutt, part terrier and part cocker spaniel. He's all white. I call him my Luck Dragon.

* * *

**Chapter 13:** Midnight Calling

It took a week for Jean to compile a list of answers. Another three days after that for Rogue to call Remy. It was ten o'clock on a Friday, which meant it was somewhere around three in the morning at Castle Cassidy. She turned on her computer and called, knowing he might not even have the service up. But after only two rings his sleepy face was in view, the red in his eyes burning in all the darkness around him.

"I woke you up."

"Well, ain't dat the truth. What's wrong, _chere_? Is everythin' alright?"

"Nothing urgent. Go back to bed."

"_Non_. You done woke dis Cajun up, may as well tell me why you call." He yawned, stretched in the dim light cast mostly from the computer screen. She noted that he wore his gloves, though not a shirt, as he scratched his chest. "Well?"

"I wanted to apologize." Even with such little light, she noted that he arched a brow. "For callin' you a dirty Swamp Rat with no sense of boundaries or compassion." He was silent. "And for accusin' your mother of having loose morals." Rogue was pretty certain he snorted just then. "Not knowing her, I shouldn't have brought her into the argument. That was petty. And further more, you were right."

"_Pardon moi_?"

"You were right, Cajun, don't be ungracious about it," Mississippi snapped back at him, bringing the warmth and the south in a sentence.

"God, won't she ever shut up, Gambit?" A female's voice came through, from somewhere behind the man taking up most of the screen with his smug face and his sculpted chest. The voice was heavily Irish and heavy with sleep. "I was asleep."

"Ah, you sure were, _petite_." He looked a touch uncomfortable before a gloved hand came up and obscured the screen entirely. He did not, however, turn off the sound so Rogue could hear his whisper, "Look, Brigit,-"

"Belinda."

"Right. Belinda. This here's a good friend and she needs t'talk—"

"So have her call back in the daylight. Is it so much to ask when you've a hot woman in your bed that your wee friend has her tantrums when the grown folk are awake and care?"

"I'm awake, _chere_, and I care. Now, you go on to your own room. You got early duties tomorrow, _non_?"

There was shuffling, feet hitting the floor, muffled curses in an accent so thick Rogue couldn't make out the individual words, though she got the gist. Eventually, Remy came back, still shirtless, now sprawled in his tangled blankets and with a low lamp adding a golden glow over him.

"She lives in the castle—"

"It's called a Keep, _ange_."

"She lives and works in the _castle _and you just threw her out of bed?"

His broad shoulders rolled. "She'll get over it, _petite_. She got what she wanted. I got what I wanted. Now, I get to talk to you. You been avoidin' me for too long."

"I didn't want to apologize to your womanizing ass and encourage you."

"You wound me, Anna Marie. Them other women know what they getting' into. I ain't tellin' 'em we gon' be together forever, _petite_, just that they gonna wish it was." His smile, combined with his sleepy eyes, the rumpled sheets, and his bare chest were a sight to make a woman catch her breath and dare him to prove it.

Even Rogue. Though she just managed not to bite her tongue in two while holding back the words. "And now that we're done with Sexy Gambit is Sexy can we move on to the more important matter of me?"

Gambit laughed and Rogue grinned back instinctively before snuggling into her own comforter. "You are right, _petite,_ you are what's important. You gonna apologize some more?"

"Nope, your _cherie amie_ ruined that for you. I am going to tell you the options Jean presented me with."

"We gonna have t'work on dat accent before I take you home. Tante Mattie'd skin me for not teachin' you better, _chere_."

Rogue yawned, sleepy for the first time in a week, and dismissively flicked gloved fingers at him.

"Bêbê, you need t'take those off. No need to sleep in 'em."

"I know, but we're talkin'-"

"Through a computer. Take 'em off then tell me Jean's options."

It was practically visible, the weight of her exhaustion as she peeled the gloves off then laid them aside before snuggling back into her comforter. The comforter didn't cover her; it was plumped up for extra cushioning effect.

"So, she says controlling it could depend on what triggers it. If it's tied to my autonomic functions—the stuff like breathin' and my heartbeat-control is gonna be real hard to come by, if it's even possible. If it's part of my sympathetic nervous system, my uh—" she flapped her hands, face scrunched while the word eluded her.

"Fight or flight," supplies with an affectionate smile curving masculine lips.

"Right. That. Then biofeedback might work. 'Course, she also said I should try more intense yoga and maybe think about anti-anxiety pills."

"Biofeedback?"

"Yeah, it's this thing where they hook me up to a heart monitor and I use my brain to slow my heart. People use it to beat lie detectors, manage pain, even those crazy Polar Swim things where you jump into a frozen over lake-which is just ridiculous, by the way. And marmosets even do it for marshmallows."

"You sayin' if a monkey can do it, you can too?"

An amused, "Mhmm," came with a downward flutter of lashes she couldn't keep up. "What do you think, Remy? Any of these sound like gold?"

"I think you got your choice to make, but me, I'd take a pass on de pills for now. Try the biofeedback. I'll even send you some marshmallows, _chere_."

"No good, Cajun. I want you to feed 'em to me while fannin' me."

"I think they usually use grapes for dat."

"Don't care. I want marshmallows."

"An' who said you always get what you want?"

"I never get what I want, sugar, that's the point."

There was a long silence after the quick exchange. Well, as quick as a half-asleep mutant girl from Mississippi could manage, anyway. In that silence, Rogue slipped fully to sleep.

"Anna Marie? You awake?" Gambit's voice was kept purposefully low, soft. If she was asleep-and he was hoping she was-he didn't want to wake her. "Me, I'm'a make sure you get what you want." He left their computers linked and fell asleep again to the soft sounds coming from Xavier's in the dark.


	15. Chapter 14: Feedback

**Chapter 14:** Feedback

**Rogue** snarled and ripped off the electrodes monitoring her heart rate. "If this is the only way t'control my damn mutation, I'm screwed!"

Jean held in her sigh. They were on week six and Rogue's outbursts were now familiar to her. Wolverine had started sitting in at week three, when Rogue's discouragement started tilting toward anger. "Marie." His sandpaper voice caused her eyes, startlingly green, to focus on him. Arms crossed at his chest, his hips just barely leaned on a metal stool, Logan was completely unruffled by her temper."This is going to take longer than average since no one knows what your trigger is."

"Or if I have one even. Six weeks. That's twelve sessions and I don't see crap happenin'." Rogue's own chair scraped back sharply, tipping slightly off its legs as she rose forcefully.

"Well, I do." Jean's voice, though even, had a steely resolve underlying it. "I have watched you learn to control your heart rate in stressful situations. Even now, you're angry, but before you ripped off those electrodes no one would have been able to tell from your heart rate. It spiked and then you smoothed it right out. The trouble is, Rogue, to test if it is affecting your mutation you need to allow someone to touch you. Logan has offered—"

"No." She crossed her arms. "Nothin' feels different. It'll just hurt him. I'll _hurt _him."

A low, disapproving growl preceded the man in question as he crossed the room. Heavy hands grabbed Rogue by the shoulders but resisted a very real urge to shake the slim young woman. "Marie, I'll heal. Jean'll monitor every second for both of us. Nothing bad is going to happen."

"I almost killed you last time."

"Last time you were almost dead. This is different, kid."

"I'm not usin' you as an experiment," said whisper quiet.

Logan's stomach knotted. So she did have his dreams. _Those_ dreams. Bending, Logan dropped his cheek on the top of her head and rubbed while reeling her in to a tight hug. "It wouldn't be the same, Rogue." But he could tell, even as her arms curled around him, that it was no good. She knew how he felt about the experiment that had lead to lacing his bones with adamantium, knew the horror of his fractured memories-drowning in liquid metal, doctors around him, a military facility and a voice. Sometimes, he thought that voice was the worst; the jubilation, the smug victory in it as his body kept healing around the metal, over and over, constantly regenerating and stabilizing him even as he begged for it to stop, to die, to be put down. Logan couldn't stand that she had those nightmares, not because they were private, but because the suffocating, drowning terror was now a part of her, as if she too had lived it.

Logan kept his cool until Rogue left medical. Then, he demanded time with Professor X and Storm, Jean and Hank. Big Blue had to teleconference in from DC, but otherwise they collected in the Professor's study. "She's not making any progress. She tabled the idea of the professor going to live in her head, which I think was a damn smart move, but this won't work if she won't let _anyone_ help."

Jean sighed. "She is making progress. But if that progress is affecting her mutation? I have no idea. And if the mutation is activated by the flight or fight response, she'll have to learn to control her anxiety about being touched specifically in order to turn it off. And yet the only test we have for that-" Her frustration was evident as lifted a hand. The entire argument was cyclical and no one was willing to force Rogue. The silence seemed defeated.

"Bring Remy home."

"Storm?" Xavier looked to her, shifting his chair slightly so his focus was solely on the white-haired mutant after her quiet proclamation.

"Remy could convince her. " Ororo looked over each of the X-Men, her friends and allies, and wondered how they didn't see it as clearly. "She's never hurt him or absorbed him, unlike with Logan, so there's no memory or guilt deterrent. Bobby Drake, we know, would volunteer as well but their relationship is fragile. Even if Rogue agreed I don't think it would be good for either of them. Remy, on the other hand, is invested, he understands the risks and the potential benefits; he has been speaking a great deal to Moira and discussing options with you Jean, correct?"

Jean nodded slowly. "It's actually why I proposed biofeedback. Moira and I have been in constant contact since Remy called that first week in Ireland. I even thought of sending Rogue to her. Moira has done considerably more research into the complications of mutant genetics and how they are individually manifested and controlled than myself. If Hank were here I would never have thought of it but…"

"Alas, I am not and Moira and I have worked together throughout the years, often acting as a sounding board for one another. Sending Rogue to her and Gambit is, arguably, the best option."

"Perhaps when Moira is settled into Muir Island-"

"Why wait?" Storm, not usually impatient, interrupted the Professor. "Let's be honest. This is making Rogue's difficulty with her personalities worse, is it not? I've seen a dozen flashes of Wolverine in the last few days, not to mention I heard her cursing in Russian last night. About Putin." Which meant her internal Piotr was having a difficult time contemplating the precarious situation his family was in back home. "And we don't think there is a cause for these sudden outburst beyond her anxiety and her belief that she cannot control the physical aspect of her mutation increasing her belief that she has no control over _any_ aspect of her mutation _or herself._" Ororo leaned forward, elegant hands weaving their own argument in the air as she continued. "This might give her the kind of hope she needs to overcome it. I'm not saying we send her away for good, I'm saying for a few months. As long as Remy is stationed there. If Moira has the time to give her even now, why put it off? Rogue could even act as backup to Remy on the transfer-"

"Whoa." Logan jumped in, obviously displeased with this idea. "She's still a student. She ain't ready-"

"She is," quickly countered by Storm. "You've only to speak to Scott if you don't trust me. He's prepared for Rogue, Bobby, Kitty, and Piotr to join the team as soon as the professor releases them and providing that's what they want. Even John, more tentatively, as his anger issues are of concern to us both."

"You wanna send her to a bunch of strangers with just that Cajun thief-"

"Logan, Remy LeBeau is a good man, a dedicated X-man, and a close friend." Storm had lightning in her eyes, obviously out of patience for whatever it was about the young mutant that Wolverine so detested. "He'll help her. She responds to him and he cares for her. Professor-"

Charles held up a hand, stalling further argument, his expression pensive. "Gambit would have to be consulted, we can't presume he'd volunteer."

"It wouldn't be presuming." Again, Jean's voice cut cleanly through the room. "He's suggested it to Rogue a number of times. I—heard her thinking about it. I've even asked her if he would make her more comfortable. She knows I…well, I picked it up. She's hard to tune out, sometimes." The telepath looked guilty as she confessed, running a hand down her smooth hair in a nervous gesture. "All the different voices. She's constantly trying to contain them; it's a lot of chatter from one person."

"Jean. I understand. So does Rogue." The professor comforted her by being both gentle and matter of fact; Jean had her own struggles with her mutation. "Go on. You believe he would do this for her?"

"I believe he's eager to help and that," she looked at Logan for a moment, something like pity in her eyes, "he could convince her to try."

Logan's teeth bared themselves before he tuned it down to a clench of his jaw. "I'll go with her."

Ororo started to protest but Hank managed to cut her off with a look; she heeded the warning and let the Professor handle it. "I think that's a good idea. Ororo can take you both in the Blackbird as soon as Jean has made the arrangements. From what I understand of Gambit's plan, dispersing several X-Men will add to the confusion about who has the actual materials needing transported. You'll be an excellent decoy. As will Rogue."

Logan didn't like it, but it was the best he was gonna get.

Jean loved it, except for the part where she had to convince Rogue. Or did _she _have to at all?

* * *

**"You** want me to what?" It was nearly August and, despite that, Rogue's windows were open and the air shut off. Upstate New York didn't have anything on a Mississippi summer, anyway. She did have a fan going, the low hum of the rotating blades competing with the early evening sounds of the students outside and those roaming the hallways.

"Come to Ireland. Help me out with the transport in a couple of days. Meet Moira." That part made Remy nervous. He didn't want the doc talking up a cure to Rogue, but what Doctor MacTaggert might be able to offer in helping Rogue understand her mutation was potentially invaluable and so worth the risk. "Stay with me at Muir Island 'til the job is done, _petite_, and work with the doc like you been workin' with Jean."

"There ain't no point, Cajun. If it's here or there, I ain't touchin' Logan to test and see if I'm still a life sucker."

"Hey, why you think I'd want you touchin' de Wolverine a'tall, _chere_?" He looked offended, dramatically so. Rogue rolled her eyes and he knew she was amused. Three months and he was learning better how to read the inscrutable Southerner. "Now, me, on de other hand…."

"No!"

"Why you de only _femme_ don' wanna get her hands on me, I do not understand, _petite_."

"Oh, right now I'd like to get my hands wrapped around your—"

"Anna Marie. Dis ain't no time for foreplay."

"Neck! Your neck you infuriatin', swamp slime."

His chuckle was purely delighted. "Swamp slime? I'm swamp slime, now?"

"Yes, the muck you have to wash off a pirogue is better'n you. You talked to Jean. You planned this out."

"I ain't hidin' that, _petite_, and you know it. Come on, _bêbê_. Ireland's borin' without you."

"Ireland has been nothin' but willing lasses with pretty accents for you so I know you ain't bored."

"Ah, but me, I like a Southern accent better than anythin'."

"Gambit, this ain't funny."

"_Non, chere_," his eyes were bright and burning even through the screen, "it ain't funny that you too scared to risk getting' control. That you don't trust your friends enough to let them help you. That you don't believe I'm capable of makin' decisions for my own self; and you can bet your fine ass I don't think it funny that you don't respect me enough to respect my decisions."

Remy had this way of reminding her he wasn't just a pretty face and charming words. He expected more from her. And he shamed her. "I do respect you. I do trust you. I just-"

"Then let me try an' help, _petite_."

She was going to have to agree. No, it wasn't that playful marker being called in, but she could tell from his tone she didn't have a choice. Not if she didn't want to damage them. It was another one of those hard moments when she had to remember what it had been like before the mutation to be a friend, to be more than alone. Of course, then she'd been a teenaged girl and conversations weren't fraught with sinkholes where you lost your best friend. "And if you cain't stand it you'll tell me? You ain't gonna feel obligated to keep doin' it?"

"Anna Marie, I am a selfish man. If I don' wanna do it, I ain't gonna do it."

He was one of the least selfish people she knew, but still, he wouldn't have any real reason to keep hurting himself when this went wrong. Rogue told herself she wouldn't be crushed when he drew back from her, shut her out as she stole little pieces of him. "Fine. Okay. I'll come to Ireland and drain your memories and take your mutation and practically kill you because I'm your friend and I have to let you make your own stupid decisions. Not unlike the decision to sleep with the dark-eyed chef who is probably gonna castrate you before I get there."

"Ah, _catin_, that's one other thing. I'm gonna need a favor…."

* * *

"He wants you to what?"

"It ain't nothin', Bobby. Jus' pretend to be his on again, off again girlfriend when I get there. A couple of the women there are a little, um, frustrated with him, I guess."

"Rogue, he likes you."

"Not like that he don't." Rogue touched her black-gloved fingertips to Bobby's cheek, glad he hadn't taken his hands from her waist when she'd dropped the bomb. "We're friends. Just friends. Look, if you really don't want me too, I guess, I could tell him no. I mean, it ain't-"

Blue eyes widened slightly and Bobby shook his head. "I'm _not_ telling you what to do." Rogue did not respond well to orders or ultimatums and well he knew it. "It's just-"

"Bobby. Not only can I not do anything with him, we aren't like that. 'Sides, soon as we get to the other location, he's gonna have a whole new crop of females to focus on and I'm sure we'll suddenly be off again."

Rogue smiled as he did, relief flooding through her. She didn't want to hurt Bobby but she couldn't imagine refusing Gambit anything, let alone such a small thing. "Then he's an idiot."

* * *

They left for Ireland on August 1st. Her birthday. There was cake for breakfast and presents to be opened. Bobby got her a ring with a roses etched in the silver, like the ice rose he'd once given her. He told her he'd gotten it made so it was flat, easy to wear under her gloves. She immediately took one off and slid the silver circlet onto her thumb.

There were also new gloves in soft silk, a set in lambskin, a raincoat in green and lined in yellow. "Hey, it's Ireland! She'll need it!" Scott defended his choice but Rogue was actually quite taken with it. Kitty gave her a dress, black leather and strapless. She grinned when Rogue blushed. "You'll need a new wardrobe just as soon as you get control of your mutation. I just thought I'd get you started." Rogue had broken with her self-made rules and grabbed Kitty in a hard hug, mumbling thanks into the other girl's hair before stepping back, cheeks red and eyes skittering everywhere but the friends gathered around her. It wasn't the gift of the dress, but the gift of belief that had moved her.

Finally, Rogue and Storm and Logan left the celebration with fresh baked brown bread from Piotr; he knew she could eat an entire loaf by herself in one sitting. But just as Rogue was getting on the Blackbird, John was there, jogging up the ramp along side her. "Where do you think you're going?"

"With you. They said we could fly with Ororo to and from. She's got another stop to make in Paris and I, for one, have never been to Paris."

Rogue started to turn back to find out who the 'we' was, but then Kitty was passing her, smiling slightly before nodding back down the ramp. Sure enough, Bobby stood at the bottom. When he didn't climb aboard Rogue went back down. "Hey, aren't you comin'?"

"Only if you want. I don't have to. I just thought, you know, it was a few more hours together." He didn't want her to think he was following her because of Gambit, but he also wanted those few hours with her.

"I like the sound of that."

He loved it when she tilted her head up at him and smiled, just like she was now; it made his heart pound and his head feel light. "Good." He surprised her then. As she turned to go back up, Bobby caught her face in his gloved hands and kissed her. It was quick, their lips just brushing. When she pulled away, her breath came out frosted. "I'm not afraid of you, Rogue. Whatever happens, I want to kiss you again."

_Whatever happens._ If she failed, he meant. Rather than think about it, Rogue took his hand and they boarded the Blackbird together. She wasn't going to fail. She couldn't.


	16. Chapter 15: Counterfeit

**Chapter 15: **Counterfeit

**Just** over six hours later they were landing at Cassidy Keep, Bobby's fingers tangled tightly with Rogue's. When the Blackbird set down with only the hint of a bump, the others were quick to unbuckle their safety harnesses and head-out, even Storm and Wolverine. Which left Rogue and Bobby alone. The minute she stepped out of the plane she had a part to play and, besides, Ororo had said they'd only be there for fifteen minutes. They had a meeting in Paris to make, a mission of their own to complete.

Rogue hefted her bag, one army-green duffel for her who-knew-how-long stay abroad. "I should get out there, probably."

"Yeah. Rogue?" Their eyes met before Bobby continued. "Don't forget me, okay? I'll be waiting."

That was such backwards thinking that she laughed. "Forget the only boy brave enough to kiss me? That ain't likely."

Bobby's smile was charming, boyish because he was still little more than a boy. "Let's make sure of that." This time, when he leaned in for the kiss, she knew it was about to happen. This time, they both drew back smiling after the brief touch of lips. "I'm really going to miss that." He couldn't help himself, went in again to kiss her smiling lips like she were any other girl he might be holding hands with on a super secret military grade jet owned by a school for gifted children.

The kiss was different from the moment their lips touched, Bobby's arm snaking around her waist and Rogue pressing in as she went up on her toes. His tongue traced her lower lip, her mouth opened, and in the heady rush Rogue got from him and the dizzying thrill of the kiss on her own end, she didn't realize what was happening. It was Bobby who had to shove her away. And though he turned quickly, not wanting her to see the way the black veins had started snaking along his skin, she saw them as they receded down his neck.

"Oh my God. Bobby. I'm so sorry."

One gloved hand waved dismissively. "It's okay. My fault."

A quick, painfully bright laugh answered. "Sure. You kiss you're all too willing girlfriend and she sucks the life out of you and it's your fault."

When the young man snapped around, intending to catch her, to fix the sharp pain in her voice somehow, it was too late. Rogue was gone.

The moment she left the Blackbird and caught sight of Remy, she dropped her bag and raced for him. It wasn't part of an act, not because she was supposed to be soothing hurt female feelings by acting as if she were the reason he couldn't commit beyond a night, but rather because she'd missed him so keenly. If he didn't have quick reflexes, they'd have ended up a heap on the grass. Instead, she had her face buried in his neck, the collar of the duster he wore against the chilly Irish summer acting as barrier.

The intimacy of the moment wasn't lost on their audience, but neither of them were thinking about who was watching. Remy had seen deep shadows in her eyes just before the power of that small body made contact. "Hey, _chere_, you okay?" Though he whispered close to her ear, his sharp eyes caught sight of Bobby just making an appearance at the mouth of the jet's bay door before disappearing inside again.

Rogue was steadied by the weight of his arms, the dark spice scent that was now familiarly Remy, and the caress of a hand down her curls. Leaning back, pressing into the palm cradling her cheek, the smile came without effort. "Am now. Damn it, Cajun, I missed you."

"'Course you did, _ma belle fille_." Wicked went his grin even though he wouldn't pay counterfeit coins for her story. "Come on, then, let's introduce you to the Doc and get you inside out of the cold, _ouis_?"

Rogue settled under his arm willingly. She _was _cold. The natives might be wearing shirtsleeves and shorts, but the pair of Southerners had goosebumps. "Mais yeah, sugar."

His groan said her accent was no better than the last time she'd sassed him in French. "Biofeedback and French lessons, dat's what's on tap for you, _petite bouche_."

Rogue didn't answer verbally, instead choosing a hip check as they reached Moira and Logan. The Wolverine's arms crossed at their approach, his golden brown eyes zeroing in on the Cajun with hostile intent. As counterpoint, the lovely doctor smiled warmly. "Rogue. It's so good to finally meet you. Remy speaks of little else."

Husky, disbelieving laughter was offered along with a gloved hand. "That I find hard to believe. But it's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am. And I'd just like to thank you right now for the time you're givin' up to help me. Even if it doesn't work, I appreciate it." Logan rumbled disapprovingly at that.

"We're all going to work very hard to ensure that it does help, Rogue." Moira squeezed the hand in hers before releasing it. "Now, I've been warned off of trying to talk over long with you this evening. Your Gambit knows how quickly I can take over. I'll leave him to showing you around." With a co-conspirator's look at the man in question, the doctor turned; she headed away from Keep towards one of the other stone buildings in the distance. Logan lingered a moment, eyeing the Cajun distrustfully, before following the doctor.

When Rogue turned on Remy, he held up his hands. "I done told you how my first meetin' went, _chere_, and thought I'd give you a night to settle in." Putting a hand at her waist, gentle pressure was applied until she turned and fell into step beside him.

Gambit didn't really bother with a tour, guiding Rogue up the stairs as green eyes widened over the interior. "My God, Remy. It really is a castle."

"So this impresses the un-impressible Rogue?"

Her fist found a kidney."Shut up, Gambit. When we go to the next place it ain't gonna be so…." A slim hand waved circles in the air to fill in for the words she couldn't find.

"Grandiose? Ancient?"

"Castley."

_Castley. "_I like seein' you surprised, so I ain't tellin'. Come on in, _petite_." Once through the door, Rogue's jaw dropped. "Your room," grandly stated. A four-poster bed stood on a dais in the middle of the floor; there was a balcony off to the left. Someone had already brought up her forgotten duffel and, strangely, there was a dresser lined with pie.

"Um. Pie?"

"_Bonne fête."_ Gambit tugged her over to the pies. "It's a birthday pie celebration. Shepard's Pie for dinner. Rhubarb, 'cause it's your favorite. Then, whiskey pie 'cause it's Irish. And my own favorite, apple, since I planned it. Figured you had cake back at Xavier's or on the Blackbird."

She was impressed again.

So they ate pie while sprawled out on her bed. The talk was easy. Over the last six weeks they'd done nothing but talk. She'd known before now that he had an obsession with apples-apple pie, apple fritter, apple lip gloss, sour apple Jolly Ranchers, even the first bite of a crab apple. He knew house centipedes were her Kryptonite and it didn't matter how useful they were at keeping other unwanted pests away, she would flee from them, screaming and vowing their death. Rogue had made him read her favorite books, _The Fault in Our Stars_ and _Pride and Prejudice. _He'd forced her to stay in one Saturday and, while connected via the magic of the internet, they'd binge-watched his favorite television show,_ FireFly_, and its companion movie, _Serenity_.

Lounging on the bed in Ireland she learned Remy liked her knee socks; alligators that danced when she wiggled her toes or cherries or stripes, didn't matter, he liked that they were not matter of fact. She did not tell him that his black tanks were sexy and she appreciated how often she caught him in them alone; she thought it even as he left on a long sleeved sweater because the castle was drafty. She did confess, over the last bite of rhubarb pie she could stomach, that she was dying to try his gumbo. Rumours were the Cajun could cook.

Feeling overly full on pie—all kinds of pie—Rogue flopped back into a mound of pillows, arms splayed. "I'm never moving again. That was amazing. Best birthday dinner ever."

"Not movin' ever? Not even for presents?"

One eyelid cracked, a half-moon of green iris visible. "Good presents? And presents, plural?" Confirmation was followed by a groan. Now, she had to move. The bed's softness didn't help her resolve as she resumed a seated position. "I have moved. I am upright. That is all you get."

"S'all I need, _chere_." Obviously not incapacitated by over indulging—knowing what his stomach looked like it was doubtful Remy ever over indulged, At least, not on food, —he produced three wrapped packages, all rectangular, and increasing in size from one to the next. The paper itself was yellow and green. Rogue knew she'd never told him those were favorite colors, but still he'd noticed.

"Buttercups."

"What about 'em?"

"Yellow and green." Presents settled on crossed legs, Anna Marie lifted the smallest first. She carefully unwrapped the glossy yellow paper. "It's because of buttercups. Buttercups and dandelions."

"I always liked red, me, but I'm startin' to have a thing for green too. Can see the appeal." Agile fingers spun a white curl, then settled to his own leg as she finished her meticulous unwrapping.

Rogue stared at the small box she'd uncovered. "You got me a deck of cards?"

"Sure, _chere._ You gonna be takin' my mutation on de regular, might as well learn how to use my favorite explosives." Her disappointment did not go unnoticed. He nudged her knee with his own. "Go on. Do the next one."

Determined to appear enthusiastic no matter what was under the striped paper, each package having a different take on her favorite colors, Rogue's face settled in serious lines. Turned out, she didn't have to pretend. In a pretty green and white frame was a picture of the two of them; Rogue was trying to scowl at him, and failing, and Remy's grin was as bright as the glow of his eyes, evident even in the flat medium. "Where did you get this?"

"I ain't tellin'. You duck pictures like the paparazzi's after you, _petite_." She stared so long Remy finally shifted the framed photo from her fingers to the bed. "Okay, last one."

Rogue wrinkled her nose at him, glancing one last time at the picture before focusing on the final gift. Inside the last box was a camera. It was bright red and that made her smile, though her gaze came up with questions and a refusal. "This is too nice; I cain't accept this. The cards and the picture were plenty."

"Nope. You got memories to make and to keep. Picture's worth a thousand words, _non_? And worth even more when you add words to it in your journal." He took the box, opening it for her. He'd added batteries and a memory card before wrapping it which made framing her for a shot as easy as lifting the camera. With the press of a second button the image was mailed to himself. "You said you wanted to travel. Now you are. Gotta make some pictures, _chere_, some good memories."

It was perfect. He was perfect. She wondered that everyone didn't realize, that _he_ didn't realize what a good man he was.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thank you for all of the reviews and the scads of follows. Hope you keep enjoying it and writing in about what you think is going to happen. I don't know either, really, so adventure! Though, the next update should be soon as it is mostly written.


	17. Chapter 16: Baseline

**Author's Note:** You all are lovely and wonderful and encouraging! Thank you for all the great things you've been writing!

* * *

**Chapter 16:** Baseline

Course, by breakfast the next day she was thinking he was a lousy, womanizing ass hat of a bayou bad boy. "Remy, I swear, she's gonna poison me."

The hiss at his ear sounded hostile, but he grinned as if she were whispering sweet nothings. Nuzzling into white and cinnamon streaked hair, hand rubbing idly at her jean-covered thigh, Remy murmured back. "Naw, _chere_, she just figurin' out if I'm really so head over heels for ya ain't no one else stand a chance."

"Cause that's believable."

A crooked finger tugged at a pointed chin until their noses practically brushed. "I'd buy it_."_

"Can we please go anywhere else? Ain't no way I'm eatin' this breakfast when she's scowlin' at me. I bet that green spriggy thing is hemlock."

Remy popped the green-spriggy thing in his own mouth, chewing as he rose to pull Rogue's chair out for her like the gentleman he was raised to be. "Parsley, _petite_."

"Or so she wants you to believe," whispered darkly as they exited, Rogue careful not to turn her back on the chef.

Most of the women Remy'd slept with at the castle didn't mind that their encounter with Gambit had been a one-time thing. They knew what they were getting—a good time, a good discrete time—and those were the ones Rogue could pick out the quickest. There was something knowing in their gazes, something familiar in the way they moved around his body, but it was really written in the way they looked at her, not unkindly and not quite jealously.

It was only ten a.m. and they'd run into three woman she would've guessed for his former bed partners, his satisfied and more than willing for another no-strings go partners. The latest was small, smaller even than Anna Marie and had sleek brown hair in a braid and faint lines at her eyes that said she had a good ten years on Remy; the way her blue eyes traveled his lanky form said the age difference hadn't mattered to either of them. She didn't touch him as the three passed each other in a hall, she and Gambit exchanged only a look and a nod, but Rogue_ knew_.

"How big a swathe you cut, Gambit?"

The bite in the drawl was more than fair warning. He dropped a kiss to the top of her head. "Small one, _petite_."

"Different woman every night?" A sidelong look up at him, really only catching the hard line of his jaw.

"_Alohrs pas!_ Not _every _night."

She snorted. "I should have let you deal with your own problem. You make your bed, you gotta lie in it."

"Mm. But it's more fun when I ain't lyin' in bed alone,_ chere_."

"Remy Etienne LeBeau-"

"I love it when you use my full name, _petite._ I been a bad, bad boy." Gold dust cheeks went rose, as intended. Remy gripped her hips and turned her to face him. "Wanna teach me to behave, _chere_?"

Deadly. That's just what she looked as her chin jutted and her full lips opened. Unfortunately, a throat clearing rather near to where they stood interrupted whatever very interesting retort Rogue would have offered. Moira was standing in the doorway they'd been approaching causing Rogue's pretty rose tone to turn a much richer shade of red. Remy didn't even bother to look away from the green-eyed girl who would have leveled him with a thought if only she were able.

She _was_ going to kill him. Maim him. Toss him into a pit with every female who was angry at him and watch them flay him alive. Except, he'd probably charm them into forming a human chain so he could climb out. They'd probably thank him and throw their underthings like he was a damn rock star. The man was impossible.

Which is exactly why Rogue's scowl didn't let up even when they passed into the room beyond Moira. It was modern, sterile, obviously a lab someone had tried to redeem. There was a couch and chairs, a book shelf and art work as if to soften the medical equipment otherwise taking up space.

By mutual and silent agreement the Southerners sat side-by-side on the couch, Remy's arm draped over the back in a proprietary drape that didn't quite touch Rogue's tensed shoulders.

Taking a seat across from them and lifting a file from a side table, Moira began, as Remy had found was her habit_, in media res. _She didn't appear to believe in small talk. "Rogue, I'd like to start by getting a baseline."

"A baseline?"

"A measure of how you are currently reacting and absorbing." A blonde lock of hair was tucked behind an ear, a simple gold hoop glinting in the light. "We've got a little information from your Danger Room sessions when you've touched one of your comrades, but you rarely do so. Also, those utilizations of your mutant ability are under a very specific set of circumstances." Moira tapped the folder she didn't need to consult; she'd memorized the details before Rogue had ever stepped foot in Ireland. "There are things we don't know for sure. Is there a delay from touch to the time you begin to leach? Is your mutation off when you sleep? Do the circumstances under which your mutation is triggered affect how quickly or intensely it occurs? And that means we need to establish what, in a safe environment with no undue stressors, is the typical time it takes for your mutation to begin working. Among other things."

"That's… a lot."

There was a tug on her curls, a jean clad knee bumping her own. "Not so much, _chere_."

"It really isn't so much," the doctor agreed, "and we have such a unique opportunity as you've never touched, skin to skin, Gambit, correct?"

"Naw, not ever." Deadly fingers fidgeted, tugging at the long sleeves of an ivory sweater until they nearly covered even the tips of the brown suede gloves Rogue had received only yesterday.

"Perfect. I thought we could get started now. The baseline we set with Gambit will help us gauge even minor changes that occur as you undergo therapy. Of course, it'd be best to have several subjects, but I understand your hesitancy. Should your feelings on it shift, you'll inform me?" Moira could see the girl had gone pale, fingers giving increasingly frantic tugs to the sweater. "I've read your file, Rogue, and spoken with your team. You're in good hands." Rising, her crisply ironed pants falling elegantly back into place as if she'd never sat, Moira glanced to Gambit. They all had high expectations of his influence on the young girl. "I've a few things to organize and my assistant will be in shortly."

Almost before the door shut, a hoarse voice shattered the quiet. "Change your mind." Face forward, not looking at the man next to her, Rogue repeated it. "Change your mind. You don't know how bad it is, Remy. Not jus' the pain. You ain't never told me anything about your past or you family and once you do this I'll know everything."

"Is that all you afraid of?"

"You'll get hurt. It always hurts."

"If this is all jus' about me we ain't got nothin' to talk about, Anna Marie."

"I—what if it don't work?" Finally, she twisted, legs bumping his, fingers pulling those sweater sleeves out of shape." What if I really am just the Untouchable Girl? What if—"

"_Arette, toi._ You aren't untouchable." Her fear was like a live thing, though, swarming up her throat and choking him as it did. "And you ain't unlikeable or unloveable, Anna Marie. Even with your mutation, you ain't none of that." Gloved hands gripped gloved hands, a thumb brushing soothingly over knuckles. " You are brave. You the best friend this Cajun got. So you get outta your own head and get in mine for a bit, yeah? See how high I think of you and mebbe you won't worry so much 'bout what you cain't do, no?"

Remy was prepared for his Anna to bolt when the door opened and a young man entered. Wearing scrubs, hair cut short, he looked exactly what one would picture a medical assistant to look like. He introduced himself as Shane and followed that up by asking Rogue to take her shirt off.

"Excuse me?"

Remy thought to maybe let the poor boy suffer under that baleful glare, get a little slashed by her razor tongue, but he took pity as Shane had no idea the kind of vicious predator he'd just provoked or even how he'd made it angry. "Your sweater, Rogue, he cain't hook all that up over your sweater."

For no reason Remy could see, she shot daggers at him before peeling the sweater away and revealing a dark green tank top underneath it. The tech, wearing gloves, carefully hooked her up to the various monitors via electrodes all over Rogue's unusually exposed skin. Remy undid his own shirt, leaving him in one of those black tanks he knew she liked so well, and got plied with the same number of sticky circles connected to wires. "Well, now, this ain't gonna make anyone nervous." Rogue gave his booted foot an affectionate kick. "Be honest now, do I still look sexy, _petite_?"

His face was so serious and those red on black eyes so bright that the left side of her mouth defeated her best intentions to frown. "Yeah, sugar, I can hardly contain myself because you look so fine in the latest medical technology."

Moira's voice came through a speaker, her brogue and no nonsense tone both softened in the crackle of the relay. "We're all set. Shane and I will be monitoring everything from in here. If there's an emergency-"

"Like me blowin' it up?" Muttered. Naturally, Moira picked up the words through the well-wired room.

"If you're concerned about having trouble with Gambit's mutation—"

"I got it, Doc, don' worry 'bout that," Remy interrupted. "But, Rogue, both gloves off." No accidents allowed with her unmarked, sun-starved skin.

"Proceed when ready."

While Rogue abandoned her gloves, Remy did the same, then offered one hand to her. It seemed they would always come back to that moment, that choice: take his hand or don't, trust him or don't.

Very carefully, Rogue placed her fingers over his, his heat warming her immediately. She wasn't going to hold on, that would be too dangerous, but Gambit had no such qualms. He slid his fingers through hers so they held hands, palm to palm, his bare thumb skimming the backs of her bare hand. Fascinated by his wide hands pressed to hers, the contrast in their skin, the sheer novelty of touch, Rogue couldn't look away from the point of contact.

Gambit, all the while, watched the play of emotion on her face; fear and wonder warred. All too soon he felt the sharp tug of her mutation, felt as if he were being siphoned out of pinholes in his skin. Carefully, slowly, hands were unhitched. Moira had given strict orders for Remy to break contact the moment he knew the leaching had begun.

But Rogue flinched at his careful separation and his heart stuttered. "Just what she told us t'do, _petite_, remember? Soon as I realized it was happenin', stop it. I ain't hurt."

Moira's voice covered his own quiet reassurances. "That was excellent. Gambit. Your vitals look good. Do you feel well?"

"Sure thing, Doc. Got to touch my _fille_, no? Who could feel better than me?"

Moira's voice had a smile in it for her next query. "And you, Rogue? How are you feeling?"

_Dizzy._ "My fingers are tinglin'."

"That's the mutation, _chere."_

"It tickles."

Remy's laughter mixed with the doctor's question. "Could you describe to me anything else that you feel you might have absorbed?"

"No."

"Rogue, I need to know in order to understand what your absorption rate is under laboratory conditions."

Moira was startled by the fierceness in the diminutive mutant's look as she found a camera. It felt as if those vibrant eyes were staring right at her. "I'll tell you what I can , when I can, but just 'cause I take his secrets don't mean I'm sharin' 'em."

It was evident there would be no movement on this front today. "I understand. Anything that wouldn't breech Gambit's confidence, however, would be appreciated."

His little pop chock, fiercely protective of a no good thief. Wasn't there anyone she wouldn't challenge over the wrong cause? "What did you get, _catin_?"

"It ain't like that." Of course she answered Remy, the blaze in her eyes quieting as it locked with the midnight and fire of his. "I don't..I'm not…that was so quick. It'll probably come back later, in flashes. Might not even realize it's somethin' of yours."

Everyone absorbed the confession. "Rogue, do you think you'd be able to charge anything?"

"I," she looked down at her fingers, at the buzz under her skin that was Remy, then nodded. "Somethin' small, sure."

"Please do so."

Remy produced a pack of cards and offered her a three of Clubs. "See, petite?"

As if conjuring magic from it, her fingertips barely brushed the card and she focued on transferring that tingle to it. When it glowed she tossed him a smug smile. Gambit simply undid the charge and set the cards aside.

"Very good, Rogue. Now, are we ready to try again? We'll see if the timing remains consistent and, of course, we'll be repeating this at the beginning of every session."

Three more times they held hands for the span of two breaths before he had to pull away. Then, there were more scans. Brain scans for both of them. They were to physically exert themselves then have their heart rates checked, their blood pressure taken. By the end of the day Rogue was grumpy, sweaty, and hungry—"That's the three worst dwarves."

"What you say, Rogue?"

Remy looked over at the mumbling girl, not bothering to hide the slow curve of his lips as she blew a lank curl out of her face only to have it fall right back there again.

"I'm grumpy, sweaty, and hungry. All the sucky dwarves."

"Guess that makes me Sexy."

"And that makes me sick," Wolverine's rough voice preceded him into the room where Rogue was collapsed on the linoleum by a treadmill. "One day of medical tests kick your ass, kid?"

Rogue's gaze narrowed dangerously. "Watch it, bub. I ain't in no mood."

Of course hearing his own kind of threat in her Mississippi drawl made the Wolverine grin. "And that means you need to eat. Come on."

Did everyone know she was a brat when she was hungry? As if sensing her thoughs, Remy's own chuckle rumbled deep in his chest. If Rogue shivered she pretended it was from the sweat rapid cooling her exhausted body. She'd never thought, when Moira suggested they switch into work out gear, that she'd be looking forward to the longest, hottest, most muscle relaxingest soak of her life. Might as well have had a Danger Room session with Logan for as bad as she felt.

Fingers wiggled in front of her eyes. "Come on, killer, you can do it." Taking his hands despite the mocking, Rogue let the Cajun haul her to her feet.

"I'll be lucky if I can chew."

Not that she doubted her abilities of mastication once she'd smelled the Guinness Stew waiting for them in a small living room.

Logan got a sweaty, one armed hug for dealing with dinner-even if the poisoning chef had prepared it-before Rogue flopped onto the couch, snagged a bowl, and dug in without further talking. And, since Rogue wasn't talking, no one did; it made for a very quiet meal.

They had several of those over the next few days. Moira was quite serious about having a complete understanding of both Rogue and Remy's physical and mental condition before she began any type of therapy. Maybe Remy hadn't needed a faux girlfriend. With Moira enlisting Logan for help on finding their physical thresholds, the Prince of Thieves had to be too exhausted for any antics.

Rogue certainly was. In fact, after the fourth day spent touching fingertips and charging cards, running laps and sparring, Rogue was too tired to even be frustrated with the imperceptible forward momentum of Moira's plan. Spent, she leaned on Gambit as they returned to her room and he led her inside. Nearly missed what the Cajun was saying, too, half-asleep on her feet and dazzled by thoughts of a bubble bath.

"Tomorrow, I think, _petite_."

"Wait? Tomorrow? What?"

"We headin' out tomorrow, _catin_. Mebbe be a few days 'fore we can contact anyone outside." Rogue yawned, leaning her soft, sleepy body even harder into his side. His grip tightened.

"Well, everyone wants t'hear from me is here, so shouldn't matter."

"You and Binky have a fight?" That pliant body went tense just before she pulled away from him. He almost regretted saying anything, but then, Remy LeBeau didn't much see the point in regret.

"No."

Ah, so something worse. Remy crossed his arms and leaned against one of the posts of her bed as she sat and started working on the messy knots she'd tied in her shoes. "Broke up?"

"No!" _Maybe._

"He cheat on you?"

"Could you blame him if he had?" Defeated in every way, she used her toes to pry off the still-tied shoes. "I'm'a take a bath. You should get some sleep if we're leavin' tomorra."

"If he did cheat he'd be a damn fool, Anna Marie." Bobby'd said something very similar. How they'd hate to know they agreed. "But, if maybe somethin' happened, some accident and you jus' ignore him, you'd be the fool. Call him." With that, the thief slipped soundlessly out of the room. But, Rogue, she was stubborn and had no intention of calling Bobby, sure she knew exactly what the young man would say and it was nothing she wanted to hear.

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**Author's Note:** Didn't want to move too fast, but the next couple of chapters should have things happening and stuff. Hope you enjoyed it.


	18. Chapter 17: Undercover

Author's Note: Quick clarification to a question asked in a review: No, Bobby did not cheat. Rogue was just being morose, thinking she couldn't blame him since he can't touch her without getting hurt. She's not talking to him because, as you may have noticed, she's an avoider of things she doesn't want to deal with (especially apologies) and she's kinda figuring he's going to end it after a three second caused him uber me know if I can clear anything else up! Otherwise, read on!

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**Chapter 17:** Undercover

**"I** think this was the plan all along," a girlish voice drifted among the chatter in the rec room at Xavier's.

Then, another, "What do you mean?"

Most people were focused on choosing the movie, but Jubilee and Boom Boom had their own agenda, heads bent together as they painted their nails.

"Well, you know, I heard Storm talking to Remy early on and she was all 'go get her Cajun Tiger' and he was all 'we jus' friends', " her rendition of his accent sounded suspiciously like the Swedish Chef ,"wink-wink. Now, they've shipped her off with him and I heard _that_ was all Storm's idea too. Maybe they want to start a breeding program with, like, the most badass mutations."

"Then they oughta put me and the Cajun in a room naked together. We'd make things go boom." Her hand threw a fist-bump kind of explosion. The two girls broke up at that . "Besides, only way Rogue's getting' pregnant is with a turkey baster."

It was only Kitty who saw Bobby walking in as Jubilee dished out her logic. He was holding his phone in his hand and Kitty, like everyone else at Xavier's, knew the habit had only manifested since Rogue had gone to Ireland. She gave Jubilee's floor cushion a shove as she hurried out after him.

"Bobby. Bobby!" She caught up, though he didn't slow his pace. "You know that's not what's going on." Cool blue eyes flickered down to her face. "What happened anyway? I don't understand. You two seemed-On the flight over, I mean…."

"I kissed her."

Kitty froze in her tracks, had to jog a few paces to catch up with his long-legged stride. "And, uh, then…what?"

"I kissed her again. And then the third time….you know, _it _happened."

"Oh, Bobby. Were you…hurt?"

"Not really. I mean," blue eyes collided frostily with brown, "of course it hurts. But, we didn't…we weren't touching that long. She ran off, right to _him_ and she hasn't answered any of my calls or texts or emails."

A hand, soft and warm and surprising, touched his cool one. "She just needs some time. She's not really _with_ Gambit and she's probably just embarrassed and guilty and-"

"And if she'd call I could fix that!" The floor beneath their feet iced, it even splashed the walls around them. "I know _exactly _what I'd say, what I would've said then. It's worth it. She's worth it." He smiled, a little, almost sadly. "I was even..it's dumb..but I'd thought, I was going to tell her it just meant we needed more practice."

"And when she finally calls, you tell her all of that. It'd work on me."

Bobby looked down into Kitty's concerned face, her warm hand still over his despite the ice show he'd put on in his frustration. Rogue was worth it, but sometimes he wished he'd fallen for someone a little easier to handle and it had nothing to do with mutation.

* * *

**"I** got it, Logan! For the nine-hundredth time, I got it." Gloved hands fisted on hips, Rogue glowered up at the Wolverine, the toes of their boots literally touching. Everyone but Gambit had cleared the area. He was lounging against a stall, flipping a card lazily through his fingers while watching the fireworks.

"Look, kid, you ain't takin' a risk like this without being prepared and I gotta know you know exactly what the hell we're doing," growled down at the pain-in-his ass Southerner who'd volunteered to put her damn life on the line.

"I am going to be the decoy. You and Remy are going to be acting as my guards while Moira is carefully hidden with all of the data on her." Each word was annunciated slowly as if for someone she didn't think could quite comprehend, and the smile she wore Remy wouldn't call sweet.

"Still followin'?" Low, rumbling growls answered her. "At a designated spot the lead car, with you in it, will leave our little convoy; you'll grab your bike and double back alone while someone else drives the car. Yet another decoy. You'll meet up with us on the road again exactly 10.2 miles later and we shall all proceed to the private airstrip where Moira and you will get on a cargo plane with the horse and Remy and I will continue on by car.

Your itinerary is known only to you and Gambit, thus keeping it completely safe, while he and I have had something of a security breach with ours." 'Cause that made Wolverine happy to hear again, that she wasn't just playing decoy but bait with a purposefully leaked travel plan. "Ya'll should get to our collective destination tonight sometime while Gambit and I will travel into France for a few days before taking up yet another disguise and doubling back, arriving at Moira's new research facility three days from now." A brow arched over hot green eyes. "Well?"

"You aren't to take any unnecessary risks, Rogue."

"Says the man who don't do nothin' but take unnecessary risks."

"I heal, kid. You don't."

With that went the temper. Now their proximity didn't bristle. "I'm gonna be careful."

"I won't be close enough to heal ya if somethin' goes wrong."

"You cain't be my personal med kit, sugar, healin' me every time something gets fouled up, there every time to save me. I gotta save myself a little too."

Logan ignored the fact that Gambit was watching and wrapped his arms around the slim woman in front of him. He ran his chin over the top of her head, even though it was a blonde wig and not her distinctively striped hair. "Okay, kid." When he finally released her, and despite his capitulation, Wolverine paused by the languid Cajun to warn, "Not one scratch on her, Gumbo."

"I ain't gonna promise you that, _mon ami_, but I do everything I can to keep her safe."

It wasn't enough. It couldn't be. It was all there was.

Only after Logan was gone did Rogue let out a huge breath. "Glad that's over."

"Ah, but, _petite_, it ain't. We goin' over the specs one more time and I'm gonna need you to give me street names and GPS coordinates." Remy smiled slowly at her. Truth be told, he was glad the Wolverine had drilled her on it so many times. For the first time on a job he was nervous and it had everything to do with the green-eyed spitfire who had suggested only last night that she dress as Moira, act as bait, and in general cause the men trying to keep her safe to be disgusted in their agreement that it was the worst idea they'd ever heard. Unfortunately, they'd been out-sassed and Rogue had gotten her way with the unqualified support of the doc. Now, they all had to live with the decision.

It wasn't until the car following them with Logan had broken off that Rogue broke the silence. "For two men who can barely stand each other, ya'll sure have been actin' a lot alike."

"Dat's jus' cruel, _catin."_ Remy slanted Rogue a sidelong look. It was strange, seeing her in the doctor's clothes. Ivory pants and a blue silk shirt, gold dust arms bare but for a bangle. No gloves because it was summer and the doctor wouldn't pull on a pair unless she was working; besides, it meant she was armed, like switching the safety off on a gun. Which was another point. That sleek woman next to him, that could have been her in different life; that could have been Anna Marie, after college and a sorority had shined her up a little. She'd have still had that sass and steel, that was bone deep, and be handy with a rifle but she wouldn't be the kind of girl who could field strip an M4, give a first hand account of the Holocaust, and had a history that included living on the road eating out of trash bins. There wouldn't be a place for him in that kind of life, though.

"Cruel or true? Scott and Storm and the Professor sent me here to help, not jus' see the doctor, but you both actin' like I cain't handle myself."

"That ain't it at all, _petite."_Remy flicked quick glances at her, but he was watching the road and so was she, for signs of trouble.

"No, Swamp Rat? Then what?"

"It's your first assignment, _non_? Sure, you been in de field but not on purpose, not planned. And last time you were—" He didn't have to finish. She'd nearly died. Nearly killed the Wolverine. Hell, nearly killed half of the most important people in the world. "We care, yeah? I don't like the Wolverine, me, but don't matter 'cause we both like you."

"I don't need y'all to protect me all the time. How'm I ever gonna—"

Remy never got to hear her finish that question. Their world exploded in dust and sounds and light. Someone had detonated a roadside bomb and they weren't ten miles from Cassidy Keep.

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**Author's Note: **100 Followers and a swoon in a review? Ya'll are killin' me. In the best way. Thank you, thank you for all of the reviews and the follows and the favorites.** lovely smile**, I hope you are still with me! When I update back-to-back I always think of your early insistence at MORE NOW! :) And you longer chapter lovers, this one was originally over 4,000 words. I decided to break it in two, but update back-to-back so no suspense. Well, except for the time it takes to load.


	19. Chapter 18: On the Road

**Chapter 18: **On the Road

**"H**old on." Remy's tone was grim as he slammed on the breaks, working the wheel to keep the horse trailer at his back from fishtailing wildly and flipping them. Rogue was braced, bare hands on the hard plastic of the dash and the door. It felt like slow motion, the whip and slide, to Kristi Guillroy's rich voice and bright accordion on "Blues À Catin".

The moment they stopped spinning, the horse trailer slamming into an old, low, stone wall, real-time asserted itself. "You okay, p_etite_?"

She'd been bashed into the door, but her seatbelt had worked well. "Fine. You?"

"Bon."

In the back, the horse kicked and made frantic sounds, but the X-Men—and in that moment they were exactly that-were on the defensive as they hurried out of the cab of the truck and onto the narrow road. The smoke cleared, revealing two figures, a man and a woman.

"Burner, Katya."

"Gambit." The man nodded, a smile flashing across his mouth before he spoke again in a thick New Jersey accent. "You do take the strangest jobs."

Rogue looked to Remy, quirking a brow. The minute she spoke or used her powers, they'd know she wasn't the doctor. So, for now, she was stuck with silent communication. Of course, it was going to be kinda tough not to use her mutation when she didn't have her hands covered.

"'Cause he's just a slut, for money or women, doesn't matter." Katya, apparently, was much less friendly with the N'Awlins mutant.

"Don't be bitter, make you age faster,_ ouis_?" Undisturbed, Remy casually flipped cards in his nimble fingers. "What's dis all about anyway, Burner? I just takin' a horse to market, me."

Burner's eyes flared and he shook his head. "You're on the real wrong side of this one, man. She does tests on mutants. Experiments."

"My _catin_? Naw. Do you, _chere_? On mutants?" Her inability to answer was not lost on the Cajun. "Maybe you run some tests on this mutant. Mebbe check my stamina, _ouis_? An' I can play wit your probes."

Burner was amused, the women in the standoff considerably less so. Katya hissed. "Enough. He's been in her pants and her pockets. Can we just get her?"

"You gonna take _mon belle femme_? I ain't through wid her yet." He still seemed relaxed, as if waiting for more banter from the mismatched pair who'd attacked them, which was why the sudden flare of power in four flying cards was so startling. Katya and Burner scattered while Gambit slid across the car and snatched Rogue around the waist to yank her to cover. Just in time as Burner threw flame from his palms.

"Friends?"

"Eh, sometimes." Gambit shrugged as they crouched behind the rock wall. "Divide and conquer." Without discussion he caught her face in his hand, placing bare fingers against the curve of her jaw. When she started to pull away he snagged her chin, held on til it hurt and the first of the black spread in rays from their point of contact. "Trust me. You gon' need it."

With that, he was up and over the wall, charging and throwing and dodging as he pulled Burner's attention.

Knowing her eyes would be burning red on black, Rogue followed, splitting to the left. She scooped a handful of gravel, charged it on the fly, and flung it at the at the tall blonde. But the Belarusian dissolved and the charges passed through her. "They call me Mist."

And that's when things got ugly. There was the sound of fire, a roar, and small explosions as Remy and Burner faced off. But Rogue couldn't check on her teammate, had to trust he could handle himself because she had her hand full with a woman she really for damn sure couldn't touch. How the hell was she supposed to kick the ass of someone who wasn't solid? Which is why the first hit to her own face was such a surprise, solid and flesh, that it whipped her head back and snapped her teeth together hard. She flipped out of the way, landing poised to fight, and engaged again.

But, it happened again. Then again. Those out of nowhere slams of skin to skin. Mist kept slipping away but Rogue learned from each solidification. Finally, the other mutant came in for a hard punch and landed it, but Rogue had been anticipating this hit. She grabbed the woman's arm in a determined grip and tried, with a ferocity she usually reserved for not using her mutation, to pull another into her. They grappled, landing in the rocks and the dirt, rolling over and over, but Rogue never let go. Not until Mist finally went limp on top of her.

At the sound of footsteps over her shoulder, Rogue dissolved and reassembled herself a few feet away only to find her own panicked gaze focused on Gambit.

"You touched her."

'Not much choice."

"How you holdin' together?"

She dissolved again, her particles losing their bonds, and came back together with a scowl. "Not funny. We gotta get Moira and get out of here."

Gambit was wondering exactly how they were going to do that with Rogue's form destabilizing every few seconds when the sound of a vehicle approaching became the more immediate concern. "Get outta sight."

"Apparently that ain't a problem," muttered, but she dove over the wall, turning to mist for a moment before re-materializing as she tucked and rolled, then flattened in order to stay concealed by the stones. Probably no one would notice if she turned back into mist, right? This was Ireland, after all, a single amorphous cloud of water droplets would blend in with the damp fog.

"Where is she?" A familiar snarl had Rogue standing. Sort of. She started to stand and then sighed as she felt her atoms dissipating.

"She right there," Gambit gestured. And the Cajun wasn't laughing because 'right there' meant a cloud of fog that looked only slightly suspicious.

"What the hell do you mean she's right—"

"He means," through gritted teeth, eyes still shining red, as she bore down and tried to hold herself quite literally together, "right here. We need to go before they come to."

"We do, indeed." This from Moira, climbing down from her hiding spot, a secret panel in the horse trailer. "Unhitch the truck, we'll send someone from the Keep for the horse. Gambit, you two should take the motor…cycle," she stopped, voice weak, as Rogue once again turned to so much vapor. "The truck. You'll have to take the truck. Keep the windows rolled up."

"And what about them?" Spoken almost before she had rematerialized, Rogue gestured at the two prone figures.

"We'll call for pick-up. He out awhile?" Wolverine could smell the fire on the male so there was no need to ask about the female. Rogue had handled her. It would probably be a couple of days before she came around.

Gambit nodded. "Few hours, sure."

Calls were made, the trailer unhitched, and, just as they were about to split again, Moira handed Gambit a small memory stick. "The computer and the stick have to be together to access the files. If something happens to us, we'll destroy the computer. If something happens to you-"

"But your research! A cure!" Rogue shouted, anger settling her solidly in her bones.

"I'll have to duplicate the tests. Start over." Moira smiled, serene despite the attack. "It's still in my head. It'll take longer, yes, but the information won't be with the wrong people." Then, she slid onto the motorcycle behind Logan and the two shot off.

Gambit refused to drive until Rogue was fully materialized in the cab, then he secured everything and they too took off. He didn't tell her, but every time she went cloudy in the seat beside him he held his breath and counted how long it took for him to see the blonde wig, the torn blue silk, her small hands fisted on her thigh.

"We gonna ditch the car soon as we get somewhere we can ditch it, yeah? Keep the wig, _chere_, but you gonna have t'get new clothes. Look like you been attacked." He smirked over at swirling mist that settled into a scowling woman. "How long you think this last, _petite?_" Voice casual, as if he wasn't worried that the frequency and the duration had yet to change at all though the red denoting his own mutation in her system was now completely gone.

"Don't know. Maybe I should lie down in the back. We get on a busy road and—" she was gone, so was her voice, took 15 seconds for her to return. "And I'm likely to scare the shit out of some people."

"No."

"Remy—"

"Can't keep my eyes on you in the back, _chere_; some people, they just gonna have to was their clothes real good tonight."

It didn't' come to that, thankfully. Rogue crouched in the foot well though Remy protested. She refused to let him stop in the first town or the second, though they did switch vehicles, but when they'd finally gotten somewhere large enough to have sleazy motels Rogue relented and Remy took care of obtaining their accommodations. Rogue dashed from car to room while she had solid legs, collapsing on the bed, and then going to mist almost immediately.

"Gonna be hard t'travel with you like dat, _petite_."

"I'm trying."

"Hey, now, I didn't say you weren't, me, jus' thinkin' we might need to find a place to hole up for a day or two, yeah?"

"She couldn't phase out when I was touchin' her, but if you touched me I'd kill you and we still couldn't travel." Oh, the irony. Rogue chewed her lower lip, at least while her teeth and lip were solid enough to do so. "Let's see if it fades by morning."

"Mm." He wasn't convinced, was more than a little worried and curious about what Katya might have put in her head too. "A'right den, _petite_. I'm gonna shower." That wolfish grin flashed, crooked and inviting and sinful. "Wanna join me?"

"Water games can be fun, can't they Gambit?"

It was Rogue looking at him. Rogue's slow southern draw dragging the words through the Muddy Mississippi before releasing them, but Gambit knew that hard edge, that subtle knife point and invitation, they belonged to Katya.

"Do you remember that time in the hot springs? I kept dissolving and re-substantiating in the most interesting positions."

"_Assez._ Rogue, you come on back now, _chere_. I wasn't inviitin' anyone but you t'come and play. Figured you'd snap me with a towel or somethin'. Know you want to."

"And since when does what anyone else wants matter?" Rogue's form wasn't slipping away from her anymore which said that Katya was in control now. Slender fingers lifted, unbuttoning the wrecked blouse. "Besides, her little body is a mess and could use a good scrub. Don't you scrub her back for her before you fuck her, Gambit? You were always so considerate. Until, of course, you weren't."

The shirt fell off, slender arms bowed back to take care of the clasps on the coral bra beneath. Remy grabbed those arms, careful of his exposed fingertips. "We're done, me and you, and that ain't got nothin' t'do with Rogue. You go on and let her loose. You're fine. You gonna wake up in a few days. She didn't do no permanent damage."

"No permanent damage?" Katya tossed Rogue's hair and laughed up at him, the rich green shot with blue now. "I'm in her head. In her body. That seems permanent and damaging to me." She arched the slim, strong body in a way Remy had never seen Rogue move herself and he reacted even as bile rose bitterly into his throat. "But you like it, yes? Her sweet little body and my naughty mind. Oh, this could be fun."

"Rogue, I know you're in there. You just shut her down, _chere_, jus' like you did on the road. Katya ain't stronger than you. Ain't better 'n you."

"Aren't I?" Nimble fingers managed to get at their goal, the bra undone and gaping, dragging at her arms.

Remy bent until their foreheads nearly touched. He never looked away from the mantis green cracked with blue. "Think about your heart, _chere_, the beat of it. You can control it. Means you can control any damn thing." Long, deliberate breaths lifted the man's broad chest. He too concentrated on that wild-winged heart, flapping frantically against the cage of ribs, waiting for it to settle, to calm, to stop struggling. He knew she could do it. Knew she would do it if he had to go in there and drag her ass back out.

Ah, but, then, there it was. The heart slowed, the breathing became purposeful and the body he had pinned relaxed under his fingers. Very carefully, thief's fingers drew the straps of the bra back up slim arms, slipped behind to refasten it. He never looked away from her gaze, smiling when the last of the blue was overcome by green. "There's _ma catin_," a whisper, all affection and purr, relief hidden in the rich, masculine tones.

"I'm half-naked. She was gonna kill you."

Gambit busted out laughing, then swiftly switched their positions so he was on the edge of the bed and Rogue was in his lap. No, she wasn't worried that she was half-naked with the most debauched mutant on the continent, but rather that she was half-naked and her skin was going to be the weapon in an accidental homicide.

Face buried in thick waves and loose curls, Gambit kissed in the general direction of an ear, lips rubbing over silky strands. "She coulda tried, _petite_. She could a tried."

* * *

**R**ogue only dissolved a few more times that night. When they'd gone a twelve-hour stretch with no incidence the pair took off again and they kept on moving, catching catnaps where they could. They saw another brief skirmish, opting to flee rather than to completely engage so no one would figure out Anna wasn't Moira. It wasn't fun and yet, it was the second best road trip Anna Marie had ever been on. It didn't quite top Logan and her on the road, however brief that had been. That had changed her life. Saved it. But it was damn close.

Still, when Remy said they were finally in the home stretch and heading for Muir Island, Rogue groaned in pure relief. "No pillows that smell like smoke. No more hamburgers from McDonalds. No more 10 hours in a damn car. I'm actually lookin' forward to touchin' you, Cajun."

"_Petite_, you coulda touched me anytime you wanted. We don' need an audience for that." His fingers twirled a white strand capturing her as surely as that sideways smile. _Le Bon Dieu,_ he was glad that wig was gone.

Rogue smacked his hand away. "How 'bout you jus' let me drive, Cajun?"

He'd borrowed a sleek red convertible just before they'd left France for Spain and Rogue just had to get behind the wheel. And it was _borrowed_. Once they ditched it in an easy for police to locate spot, the owners would get it back in the same condition, plus a few thousand miles, as when Remy hot-wired it. It would even have a full tank of gas, at Rogue's insistence.

"What we getting' for the drive back?"

"Who said we drivin'?"

And they didn't. Remy booked them on a 24 hour cruise from Santander to Portsmouth where they then picked up a mutant friendly flight to Scotland. There, a boat was waiting, direct from Muir Island, and Remy was left to captain it. Rogue was more than a little nervous about his boat piloting skills.

"I grew up on the bayou—"

"You grew up in N'Awlins."

White teeth flashed. "So you ain't got much 'bout _ma famille_, den?"

"Think all I got from you with all those touches is how to count cards, pocket 'em, or charge 'em. How are you managin' that anyway, sugar?" Finely arched brows were down in a scowl, but it was hard to say if it was confusion over how he'd managed the stream of information she gathered or their speeding along cool blue water.

"When you don' go deep you get surface thoughts, I think. Anyway, was a theory, seems to be workin' out."

"That touch you gave me on the road wasn't so surface," said almost too quietly to hear over the water and the engine.

But he did hear it. Glanced sideways at Rogue though she was watching the water. "You needed it."

"Not worried about what else I took?"

"From me? _Non._ From Katya? _Mais yeah_."

Slender hands splayed, palm up; Rogue stared at them when she spoke. "Got a lot. Try not t'look but she's….insistent. Doesn't like you much, Cajun." Rogue forced her voice to lighten, shoving her fingers into the pockets of the jacket she wore as if she could so easily pocket stolen emotion. "Well, least not anything but your body. Did you two really go at it in a downtown—"

"_Arette, toi,"_ but the laughter lacing the patois said the moment had passed from intensity.

"And that night in the hot springs, you really liked it when she used her mutation to—"

"Anna Marie!" Gambit sounded scandalized and that just tickled Rogue's fancy. She was still wiping laugh-tears from her cheeks when they finally docked at Muir Island.


End file.
